The Book Of Eros
by HigherMagic
Summary: A collection of slash fics that don't belong anywhere else. Mostly Dean/Cas in various AUs. Enjoy! The Snapshots 'verse has been moved to its own story, and they will not be added here anymore.
1. Not To Be Wasted

**Title:** Not To Be Wasted  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** Dean/Castiel, vague allusions to Gabriel/Castiel  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> biting, kidnapping, mild brainwashing, blood!play  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~3,700  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Castiel kidnapped Dean when he was two, raising and training him to be the perfect feeder. Problem is, sometimes Dean's a little too perfect, like when Cas is in the middle of a meeting and all he can think about is the soft puff of breath against his thigh from Dean's mouth.  
><strong>Notes:<strong>Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. earth_heart wanted vampire!Cas/feeder!Dean, so that's what I did. Hope you like it, epic twin! *huggles you tight* It's kind of light on backstory 'cause I wrote it in a hurry, but oh well.

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><p>Castiel hated the Meetings. They were pointless – what could any of his Children have to say to him that they couldn't send in a quick email or something? These trivial <em>time consuming<em> conferences were, he thought, simply designed to try his patience, especially on days like today.

Still, he would be polite, because they were his Children and he loved them all. Absently, the Alpha vampire reclined in his high, wing-backed chair, one hand moving down to gently rest on the inside of his thigh. A warm puff of breath skated over his fingers, and Castiel's mouth quirked up at one corner in a smile. His blue eyes flashed down and met vivid green.

Castiel had first laid eyes on Dean when the boy was two years old, young and giggling in his mother's arms while she tried to feed him juice and he would continually, playfully deny it. Even from where he had been standing, the strong scent of the youth's blood had overrode everything else; the pollen, the scent of sand and water in the playground, of mud, of trees; there was nothing else but that tiny heart and his rich blood.

He kidnapped Dean on the eve of the child's third birthday, taking him to his home to raise him to be a feeder. On trying to take the child, Dean's father had seen him, had tried to take Castiel out with a shot gun. The bullet, of course, couldn't hurt the vampire, but his charge had been very human, and the bullet had grazed. Dean still bore a scar on his arm from it.

The scent of that child's blood had almost made Castiel lose it completely – Dean was spiced wine and honey, leather and sweat, chocolate and cinnamon. He was sweet and tangy and tasted like everything Castiel ever wanted.

Castiel had taken the bleeding child to his home, laying him down, sobbing and whimpering, on one of his guest couches. He had soothed the trembling child, binding his wound and petting his hair, whispering what a strong, brave boy he was being. He was no stranger to being a father – his Children stretched out, vast and many across the globe, and the change was much like this, when they were trembling and afraid and in tears.

Dean quickly became Castiel's favorite. Sixteen years later and the boy was the only feeder to still be alive, still be useful and used.

The vampire smiled down at his charge, brushing the tips of his fingers through the soft brown hair over Dean's ear, touch and smile full of affection. Dean's eyes fluttered closed, a small smile curving his gorgeous mouth as he went back to dozing against his master's thigh, head pillowed on the muscle as he curled up closer between Castiel's legs, on the floor.

Castiel took a slow, deep breath, letting the human's scent wash over him and calm him down, as Raphael's voice cut through his lazy memories; "Father." Blue eyes flashed his way, and Castiel realized that he had actually been taking part in a conversation before zoning out.

The vampire shifted, sitting up a little straighter. Dean lifted his head when Castiel moved forward and allowed the vampire to reposition himself before the boy laid his head back on Castiel's thigh, closer to the apex of his legs this time, face turned outward, shoulder dipping under his leg. There was a white sheet wrapped around Dean's body, fastened so it fell loosely around his shoulders – Castiel liked easy access, but he was also a possessive bastard and hated the thought of anyone else's eyes taking in the loveliness that was Dean's body. His boy had grown wonderfully, filling out so perfectly, and Castiel was a selfish son of a bitch at the best of times – the sight of Dean, naked and strung out in pleasure, needy and desperate, had always been and would always be for his eyes only.

"Your management methods are sloppy and, frankly, wasteful, Raphael," Castiel murmured, getting back to the matter at hand and trying to ignore the small throb of desire that was beginning to build up, thirst in his throat and fire in his gut combining to drive him to distraction. He knew that any one of the people in the room would eagerly offer their throats to him, but Dean was the only one he craved.

Thinking about that, he moved his hand down to gently brush against Dean's neck, nail scraping along the faint blue line of his vein, and Dean's eyes fluttered again, the human moving to bare his throat, completely trusting and willingly vulnerable. It made Castiel's mouth water, just thinking about it.

The younger vampire's brow furrowed in uneasiness. At Castiel's right hand, he saw his Second, Gabriel, smirk and shake his head. "What do you mean?" the lesser asked warily.

"You are wasteful," Castiel repeated slowly, as though he were talking to a child. Then, he flashed teeth in a wicked, dark little smile. "A good feeder can last for all their life if you let them, and yet here you sit, requesting more. You cannot keep killing them, or Hunters will come knocking at your door, and then where will you be?"

"They…" Raphael paused, obviously flustered and getting angry. "They are rebellious, they -."

"Rebellious?" Castiel couldn't help it – he laughed, a dark, smooth chuckle that elicited shivers from many of the gathered vampires, and Dean, at his feet. The human clung a little tighter to his leg when Castiel's hand moved up, lightly knotting his fingers in the boy's short hair, and lightly tugged, making Dean's eyes flare open, his head tilted back and to the side so he could see Castiel's face. The Alpha vampire, though, wasn't looking at him. "Then you are definitely doing something wrong."

"I don't understand," the lesser vampire bit out.

Castiel rolled his bright eyes, and sighed. "Look here," he murmured, sitting up a little straighter again, his free hand moving down to cup Dean's chin, gently stroking along the line of the human's jaw with his thumb so Dean relaxed, body slightly tense but pulse slow, still trusting. "How many have you seen, sitting where this boy sits now?"

Raphael's eyes flashed to Gabriel, briefly. "Two, Father."

"And how many have you seen since Dean's first appearance?" Castiel pressed, and Raphael pressed his lips together, because they both knew the answer. "Dean." Without taking his eyes from his Child, Castiel tilted Dean's head so the human was looking at him. "When you look at me, what do you see?"

The human's brow furrowed, his eyes darkening in worry over the question – he didn't know what Castiel wanted to say, though he was trying to make a point. He wanted to help, to drive the point home, but he hadn't been paying much attention, truthfully. He always found it hard to concentrate with Castiel's gentle touch on his head or across his body.

"I…" He paused, swallowing and biting his lip. "Cas?"

The Alpha vampire's eyes darted to Dean's quickly, and his smile softened, icy irises warming up and Dean felt himself relax, just a little. "It's okay, Dean," he whispered, petting through his human's hair again and Dean smiled.

He reached up, wrapping his warm fingers around Castiel's cold, still pulse. "Are you thirsty, Cas?" he whispered. Maybe that was what Castiel wanted of him. Maybe he was thirsty – his eyes were dark, lips chapped, skin very pale. He hadn't tasted Dean in almost four days and surely he was feeling the need now. "Do you need -?"

Castiel chuckled again, the sound of his laughter low and gravelly, and Dean blinked up at his master, his lover, concern shining in his dark green eyes. The vampire's hand was cold and soothing when he cupped the side of Dean's face, snapping his bright eyes back to Raphael. "Do you see?" he whispered, voice almost awe-filled. "With my feeder, I don't even have to ask. Can you claim such loyalty? Can you hold humans in your thrall like that?"

Raphael swallowed. "I shall learn," he said, resigned.

Castiel nodded, and then straightened. "Away with all of you," he muttered, waving the hand that had been on Dean's face, and the human bit his lip at the loss of contact, but Castiel was still holding his chin, his nails still digging bluntly into the soft skin under his jaw, feeling along his vulnerable throat. "We shall reconvene in an hour." He paused, eyes flashing darkly Dean's way. "After lunch."

The vampires chuckled, their own hungers flaring up in response to the Alpha's desire, and quickly stood, filing out of the room. Dean barely waited for the door to click shut before he was hurriedly pushing up the thin sheet, ducking his head so it fell down behind his back and off him, baring his smooth, tanned skin to Castiel's hungry eyes.

"So good," Castiel whispered, his pupils huge and black, breathing a little more ragged, nostrils flared, and Dean's heart began to beat more wildly in excitement, getting ready to feed Castiel and sate the Alpha. Dean smiled, flashing teeth in a gentle, affectionate grin, and scrambled up Castiel's body until he was kneeling over Castiel's thighs, his knees digging into the soft cushioning of his chair, body settling, warm and heavy, across his mate's groin. "Such a _good_ boy," Castiel growled, earning another low shiver from Dean.

His eyes closed gently again, lashes kissing his cheeks, as he leaned forward and bared his neck to Castiel, inviting the vampire to bite and claim him. There were several half-moon scars across Dean's neck from Castiel's bites, healed over, some more recent than others. Castiel usually liked to just take from the same place, but sometimes Dean got so sore that even his love and devotion to Castiel couldn't stop him flinching away and the vampire would have to switch sites, just for a while, until his boy stopped hurting.

It was a small price to pay for Dean's eagerness.

Castiel grinned, feral, hooking his hands in the meat of Dean's thighs and pulling him closer, until their bodies rammed together and Dean choked when his erection was trapped between his and Castiel's stomach, spurting out a thick glob of precome that Castiel caught with his thumb, reaching up to smear it across Dean's lips. Dean whined, but obediently didn't lick his lips – he would await Castiel's orders, just like always.

The vampire smiled in satisfaction, nosing along the throbbing line of Dean's pulse as his hand found the flat, plastic hook of the butt plug, and he caught it, twisting the toy inside of his boy slightly, making Dean moan and buck, fingers grabbing frantically at Castiel's clothes, his hair, it didn't matter. "You've been very good, Dean," Castiel whispered, like he never expected anything less – Dean was always good, because he had no reason to be otherwise.

Dean's breath left him in a shaky exhale. "Thank…thank you, Cas," he murmured, warm breath ghosting over Castiel's neck and making the vampire growl on instinct. Dean let out a hoarse cry, clinging closer like a frightened child when Castiel pulled the plug out of him, fingers of his other hand deftly pressing at Dean's open, wet hole, which was still smeared with Castiel's come and lubricant from their mating not even hours before.

Castiel remembered the first time he had taken Dean to his bed. The boy had been fifteen, and beautiful, trembling with need, blood smeared down the side of his neck and across his chest - when Castiel drank from him, it was like his world lit on fire. His young body had been shaking with need – it hadn't taken anything for Castiel to make him come, crying out brokenly to the ceiling while his sweaty face was awash with pleasure, aftershocks rocking through his body with every knowing swipe of Castiel's tongue, or the brush of his hand or the hard pounding of his cock.

Little had changed. His boy was still so sensitive, so responsive, attuned to Castiel's every wish.

His hands fumbled at the button and zip of his pants, lifting Dean up effortlessly as he freed his hard cock, and then positioned the boy so that Dean's ass was positioned perfectly over the head. "Sink down for me, baby," Castiel growled, eyes lust-black and voice dark like he was making a death threat, and Dean shuddered, head thrown back, chest heaving in a gasp as he sank down onto Castiel's cock, biting his lip, a whimper spilling unbidden from his full, slick lips as he felt Castiel splitting and breaching him.

"So good, feels so good, Cas," he whispered brokenly, rolling his hips to try and get Castiel's deeper, and gasped when the vampire aided him, angling his hips _just so_ to graze the boy's prostate. "_Please_, Alpha, Cas, more, _please_."

"Shh." Castiel soothed the trembling boy, one hand petting down his hair and back, face buried in his neck, the other on Dean's hip to help him establish a rhythm. "Don't I always take care of you? Don't I always provide?"

Dean whined softly in response, hands fisted desperately in Castiel's hair, and rested his forehead on the vampire's shoulder. His body rolled in a delicious, perfect little arch, hips working to bring his mate to orgasm as quickly as possible, his own need neglected for now because it didn't matter. As long as Castiel was satisfied, Dean could forever be denied. He didn't _care_.

"Smell so fucking amazing," Castiel growled, earning a gasp from Dean as his finger drew the line of his most recent bite, purple and black bruising showing around the small cut – he'd been a little rough with Dean that time, less careful, and even four days later it hadn't faded. Dean's body trembled in pleasure and a little bit of pain, because the area was still unbelievably tender, but if Castiel wanted it, then it wasn't Dean's place to argue.

But the vampire moved away from it, closer to Dean's throat and further from his shoulder. His tongue snaked out, licking along the tendon in his neck, and Dean leaned his head away to give him more access, begging without words for the vampire to bite him.

The first press of Castiel's teeth into his flesh had Dean stilling, body locking up incredibly tightly as he fought the urge to orgasm, because Castiel hadn't said he could. The tightness around his cock made the vampire hiss and bite down a little further, severing skin and muscle easily until he found the vein. Blood, heady from pleasure and tangy from lack of oxygen, flooded his mouth, pooling at the corners, and a thin line ran down his chin before he began to swallow, tongue pressing at the lower half of the bite to coax more blood out.

Dean moaned brokenly, pushing closer to Castiel's mouth, his mouth dragging, wet and open, across Castiel's hairline and shoulder. _"Alpha_," he whispered, rocking his hips again, pleasure unlike anything he'd known before the vampire ricocheting like a bullet up his spine, white-hot, burning, intense. Everything was filled with Castiel. Everything _was_ Castiel.

Dean's blood had always been sweet. Always so, so unbelievably addictive, and Castiel moaned, thrusting up into the tight, willing, wet body as he drank, and drank, sating the fire of thirst in his throat as he gripped Dean's hips hard, working the human up and down on his cock, until his orgasm was ripped from him by the tight clench of Dean's body and the siren call of his blood.

Castiel continued to drink, lapping at Dean's neck like a contented cat, a low purr rumbling in his chest while the boy continued to shake and mewl gently in his lap. Castiel's eyes, half-lidded, flashed to the clock. Only twenty minutes left.

He smirked, contemplating leaving Dean like this, aching and wanting, and making him wait for the rest of the meeting, but the idea of smelling his boy's seed, of watching Dean just lose it and spread his scent all over the room, was too tempting to resist. Castiel shushed the whimpering boy again, petting through his hair as he rolled his hips, soft cock falling from Dean's ass, and gently eased the toy back in before any lube or come could seep out, curving the end so that it pressed directly against Dean's prostate.

Any hard-won air in Dean's lungs was lost then, as all his breath left him in one huge gust. "Fuck yourself, Dean," Castiel growled into his boy's ear, fisting his hair and yanking his head to one side so his throat was exposed. "Just this. Make yourself come with the thought of me inside of you."

"_Cas_," came the desperately gasped reply, Dean rolling his hips, cock hard and leaking against Castiel's thigh, before he hurriedly pushed himself back, onto the floor between his master's legs, knees hitting the cold floor with a soft thud. For a brief moment, Dean hesitated, green eyes bright and wide and adoring on Castiel's face while the vampire stared right on back at him, before Dean bit his lip, rocking back so he was braced against the floor, that was two steps down from Castiel's chair. He planted his feet on the top step, shoulders braced against the floor, perfectly on display for his Alpha. _"Please_."

"Obey me, Dean," Castiel whispered encouragingly, promising all sorts of rewards if Dean would simply obey, and the boy shivered, biting his lip, expression desperate and needy as he arched back, fingers finding the hard end of the toy, and he shoved it in deep, pressing down hard on his prostate when he found it and eliciting a choked off gasp.

Castiel watched raptly – he took it all in; the rise of his boy's chest, heaving in his ragged panting, some breaths making it so that he could count the ribs; the sweat gathering in the dips of Dean's throat and his stomach, coating all of his skin so he slipped slightly against the cold marble floor and every touch brought a shiver to him. Castiel watched the harsh, needy press of Dean's hands against the toy, trying his best to mimic the touch of his master, but he couldn't, because it wasn't enough.

Dean whined in desperation, licking his lips and tasting his own precome still lingering there, hands fluttering around the edge of the toy, so badly needing to touch himself, but Castiel hadn't said he could, so he didn't. "Dean." The soft utterance of his name grabbed the boy's attention, and he looked up into Castiel's stoic, heated eyes. "Come."

That was all it took – Dean's body locked up, hardwired to Castiel's orders as surely as his own, and he cried out loudly enough that Castiel was sure his Children must have heard. Dean whimpered, rolling to his side and curling in on himself as his orgasm racked his body, every touch almost painful because he was so sensitive after such a powerful orgasm.

Castiel watched as his boy shook through the aftershocks, a soft, pleased smile on his face. He looked to the clock again. His Children would be coming back any second – they were not ones to linger over their meals, as he was. They had no taste in the fine wines like Castiel did.

The Alpha vampire cocked his head to one side when Dean's glassy, bleary eyes blinked open, the boy lifting his head and tiredly crawling back to his Alpha's feet. He leaned in to rest his cheek against Castiel's thigh again and the vampire smiled, petting once through Dean's sweaty hair.

"Go clean yourself up, Dean, and then rejoin us here," he ordered, and the human smiled tiredly, nodding, and rose to his feet. He gathered his sparse clothing and threw it over his head so that it settled around his shoulders again, so that none of the other Children might see his body on accident, and Castiel smiled, pleased. "Dean." The human paused, meeting Castiel's eyes, and the vampire smiled, gesturing with one hand for Dean to come closer.

The taste of Dean's mouth, Castiel thought, was probably the best flavor of all of him. So sweet, and wet, and warm, eager and passionate when his tongue slid along Castiel's, making the vampire shiver, because Dean had been learning what Castiel liked for all his life – he kissed like he knew. And Castiel knew, as he kissed Dean, that the boy was tasting his own blood in his mouth, that he _liked_ it, and it sent a thrill of _dirtywrong_ through the Alpha.

One day Dean would be a vampire. Castiel knew this because he had decided it after lying with Dean for the first time. The boy, forever in the throes of his passionate youth, would be a siren call that many would give their lives to answer. He would spearhead the new growth of Castiel's family. He was perfect and it was because Castiel had made him so.

"Go," he whispered when the kiss was done, leaving Dean breathless and bright-eyed, his lust permeating the air again and making Castiel laugh. "Now." Dean nodded.

"Yes, Alpha."

When the Children reentered the room, Castiel smirked as he watched each and every one of them sniff the air, pupils going blown at the scent of lust and sex. Dean was lazily dozing at his feet again, clean except for the plug and what it kept inside, and his sheet was wrapped around his body tightly against the cold after his shower, hair wet and plastered to his face and neck. Castiel pressed a hand over Dean's slow pulse, over the new bite mark there, and smiled, dry blood still smeared around his mouth in a crimson stain.

Now, on with business.


	2. Two And A Half Men

Title: Two And A Half Men  
>Author: HigherMagic<br>Pairings: Dean/Castiel  
>Rating:PG-16<br>Word Count: 2,534  
>Spoilers:AU. Castiel? Yes? Okay.<br>Summary: Dean gets turned into a woman by witches and then discovers all the joys of being one.  
>NotesWarnings: Contains pissy!girl!menstruating!Dean, stereotypes thereof, awesome!Sam and mentions of het sex (omg, right?).  
>I JUST WANT EVERYONE TO KNOW THAT I HAVE BEEN WRITING. I've just been writing really big things that are being real bitches and not coming when I can write them down, while getting struck with other things like this bitty here. *blames Muse* Either way, I'm not just randomly chatting to people on MSN and Omegle. I'm being productive. *nervous, sheepish smile* Sort of.<br>Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

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><p>"Ow, ow, motherfucker! Fucking uterus! Ow!" Dean grumbled, rubbing her stomach and wincing when she pressed down with the heel of her hand, trying to relieve the painful cramping in her lower stomach. "Man, being a girl sucks ass."<p>

Sam just grinned and shook his head.

Recently Dean had run into a group of witches and had taken a hit from a pretty high-level spell. Several hours later he'd gained two things and lost a group of things. His voice had broken and got higher, his body shape had changed. He now looked like a gorgeous slim brunette with full lips and wide green eyes, and they both had to admit, he made a pretty hot girl.

But that wasn't the _point_.

Apparently the witches' intent had been to stop Dean's piggish tendencies towards women by turning him into one (a woman, that is, not a pig). The Winchester brother-sister dynamic duo managed to get them to reverse it, but the spell would still last three months, which meant Dean got to be a woman for three months.

The fun of it had worn off with his first period.

And really, Sam was sympathetic because when he'd been with Jess he'd come to know the glories of being on your period and just what women had to go through for one week every month, and from Jess's attitude sometimes he had grown to acknowledge that it sucked, and women were always right during them.

Dean was no different.

Still, Dean was also his big brother who could whine like a mule when he set his mind to it, and it was the third day into his cycle and Sam was getting a little annoyed now. He set his book down and rolled his eyes, turning to face Dean. "Look, there are two simple solutions to your problem," he said.

Dean cocked her head to one side. "Two?" she asked hopefully, and wow, Sam would never get used to that 'Dean' expression on a girl face.

"Well, three," he conceded, thinking of a third as an afterthought. Dean gestured for him to continue. "One," he began, counting them off on his fingers, "you can either shut up and deal with it – I mean, come on man, I've seen you take bullets without flinching." Dean's eyes narrowed. "I can go to the pharmacy and get shitloads of painkillers for you, or you can go get pregnant and deal with that instead."

Dean's eyes widened at the third suggestion and she shook her head vehemently. "Weirdo. Painkillers."

"Okay," Sam said, standing up and nodding.

"And chocolate."

"Sure, Dean."

"And…" Dean stopped, biting her lip shyly and looking away with a sheepish, guilty expression. "And I think I…"

"Clothes and tampons, right?" Dean's eyes flashed to Sam, who smiled. "Dude, I lived with a girl for almost two years. I think I know what women need at that time of the month. I will also be back with ice cream, hamburgers, a hot water bottle and enough painkillers to slay a walrus."

Dean's lips twitched, and she didn't let herself smile until Sam was out the door.

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><p>On the fourth day, Dean felt…well, there was only one way to say it – she was horny. Like, crazy-lusty, drooling over Dr Sexy more than she usually did, and objectifying every man and woman she met on the street in a glance. The vibrations of her Baby's engine when she revved started to feel really good (and she will totally never tell that to Sam because she would never live it down).<p>

Sam had gotten clothes that fit her first-try, remarkably. He'd bought several pairs of sweats so she wouldn't feel bloated and confined in jeans during her period, and then tighter jeans and tank tops and t-shirts that just clung a little to her slim figure. Dean also sheepishly accepted the bras and underwear Sam handed her, suddenly very grateful that Sam had even thought of it because honestly Dean would have gone around flailing all over the place, and her breasts _hurt _during her period. The hot water bottle and painkillers felt _fantastic_, and once she figured out how the fuck tampons were meant to work (like a small, absorbent dildo, and she was never using _that _train of thought ever again) she was in much better spirits. Ice cream and chocolate worked too.

But still. That horny thing. It's not like she'd never been on the giving end when women were horny for 'him' and she could recognize the signs within her own body, but she sure as hell wasn't going to try and get herself off with Sam around – that was just _out of the question_ because…well, it wasn't _his _body and it didn't feel altogether right.

It was only three months, anyway. She could go without sex for three months – hell, she _had _gone without sex for three months and this was no different. She just had a few extra hormones flying around inside of her and that was perfectly fine too, because she was totally able to exercise self-restraint and satisfy herself with watching TV and letting her mind wander.

That was before Castiel showed up to help them with a case.

Summoning the Angel was the first thing the Winchesters had done after Dean's transformation (and he'd been unable to help them) and so the Angel barely blinked at Dean's changed state. However, he did stare. Not with shock, though – no, this kind of stare had Dean blushing and crossing her legs, feeling heat rise in her, and she bit her lower lip, letting her newly-grown hair fall forward and hide her face as Sam talked. The Winchesters still needed to hunt – they weren't going to stop just because Dean had been turned into a girl. That wasn't logical as Dean was still just as capable of slaying bad guys and they couldn't afford to go three months just staying in one place and they didn't want to stay with a Hunter because sometimes even the best Hunters talked.

Castiel was still staring at her. With the change of clothes, she looked a lot more feminine. Sam had changed out her shampoo with a shampoo-conditioner combination and gotten her a brush (which she hadn't needed, well, ever) and she was wearing dark, nicely-fitting jeans and a light green tank top which showed off just a little of her cleavage and clung to her flat stomach and the swell of her breasts. Her hair shone and fell in long straight layers down her face and back, curling slightly at the ends. She knew she wasn't dressing _that _conservatively, but it wasn't blatantly provocative either.

Castiel, from his look, seemed to disagree.

The thing between Dean and Castiel hadn't been going on long, and Dean wasn't quite sure she was comfortable when it wasn't _his_ own body, but still, a little part of Dean was purring at the blatant desire in the Angel's eyes. She was just glad her period had stopped two weeks ago.

Castiel just nodded along while Sam went through the case, until Sam became aware that there hadn't been a response from either of the other occupants in the room for quite some time, and he looked up from his notes to find Castiel staring at his blushing brother-sister. Sam smirked a little, packing up his stuff.

"I'm getting lunch. You want anything, Dean?" he asked.

Dean's head shot up, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, then she saw Sam's smirk and her eyes narrowed again. "No. I'm fine," she grit out, her fingers curling a little in the sheets of the bed she was sitting on – Sam's bed, Sam noticed. He hoped they didn't have sex on his bed.

He sighed – they were totally going to have sex on his bed.

"Alright. I'll be back later. Might go to the library and see if there was anything I missed."

"Good bye, Sam," Castiel said solemnly, and Sam just grinned as he walked out the door.

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><p>There was a brief, tense silence, before Dean jumped, as Castiel was suddenly beside her on the bed. She blushed a little more and bit her lip and looked away, uncrossing and recrossing her legs towards Castiel, fidgeting with the edge of her tank top.<p>

"You seem uncomfortable around me," Castiel noted, sounding curious.

Dean looked up. "Yeah, well, I'm not exactly me right now," she replied sheepishly.

Castiel made a derisive noise, taking Dean's face in his hands. "Nonsense," he replied, his exhale ghosting over Dean's lips and Dean's body went all tingly – _when the fuck did that start happening?_ "You're still _you_, Dean. The outer packaging is just…different."

Dean blushed again. "And you're not…weirded out by this?"

"Should I be?" Castiel cocked his head to one side.

Dean rolled her eyes – the Angel determines his sex by taking human vessels. He wouldn't care that Dean was suddenly a girl. Before she could say anything, Castiel leaned in and placed a light, chaste kiss to the corner of Dean's mouth. Immediately Dean turned her head, deepening it, because _hells yes._ Her body flared up immediately at Castiel's touch, so much more responsive in different ways than _his _body. She shook around her inhale, unused to feeling things so…_acutely_.

"You're ovulating," Castiel remarked, and Dean blinked.

"What?" she asked, feeling her brain getting a little fuzzy around the edges – and _seriously? _God, he'd barely _touched _her.

"You're ovulating. In heat. Fertile."

Dean rolled her eyes. "Don't say it like that."

"But you are," Castiel insisted, nosing along the line of Dean's neck, inhaling. "Your blood is full of pheromones. How strange." He ran a hand through Dean's hair, making a pleased little sound when he found there was enough to thoroughly pet through, wrapping some around his fist and tugging gently, making Dean expose her throat. Dean shivered, fisting her hands in Castiel's hair and making a high-pitched sound she was pretty sure she'd never made before, encouraging Castiel's mouth to have at her neck – a place she'd never been particularly sensitive before. "You're burning up, Dean. Are you ill?"

Dean laughed – giggled, though he'd never admit it – and shook her head, breathless already. "No. Just warm."

Castiel hummed against her neck, his hands moving from her head and down her body, feeling along the newer, softer curves with deft, knowing fingers, like the change in shape meant nothing because he'd already learned Dean so thoroughly that Dean could probably have been an octopus and Castiel would know how to pleasure him.

Which is a weird thought. Moving on.

"You're wearing far too many clothes," Dean gasped out, pushing at the halves of Castiel's trench coat as she moved back onto the bed, pulling Castiel with her so the Angel could lay over her, between her legs.

Castiel withdrew a little, looking surprised. "You wish to have intercourse like this?" Dean rolled her eyes and nodded, biting her lower lip. Castiel watched the action, enthralled, then he leaned down to slant his lips over hers, taking her full bottom lip between his teeth and biting down lightly, and _Christ, when did he learn to do that?_

Castiel learned very quickly in the kissing department – and Dean found herself once again surprised as that one kiss sent little shivers up and down her spine. Well, Cas always made _him _shiver, but this was more…immediate. Very focused. She whined, feeling like something was burning between her legs, desperate for friction and a touch – _something_. Dean fisted her hands in Castiel's hair and clothes, in no mood to beat around the bush because she felt like she was going to explode and, to be honest, she'd always been curious as to what sex felt like for the girl. "Please, Cas, come _on_."

The Angel gave a low rumble, telling her he'd heard her, and it was a rough, growly sound that did all sorts of unfair things to Dean's body. Then, Castiel chuckled darkly and Dean moaned again. "Shh, beloved," he whispered against the soft skin of her neck, his stubble scraping against her heat-flushed skin. "I'll take care of you." And Dean totally blamed the hormones for making her blush.

And Sam was right. They _did _have sex on his bed. He'd come back to find a very sated big sister-brother and an Angel curled up around each other, and he'd rolled his eyes and claimed the other bed for himself because, gross, he wasn't sleeping in that now.

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><p>The three months came and went, and Dean still remained a girl. Needless to say, she was a little pissed off about it. "What the ever-loving <em>fuck?<em>" she growled, picking up one of her pillows and throwing it across the room, narrowly avoiding Sam's head. She then sat down, putting her hands over her eyes, and fall back onto the bed. "Fucking hell. I knew those witches would screw us over – I'm gonna be a girl like this forever!"

Sam wrinkled his nose as his brother-sister's melodramatic behaviour. "God, dude, are you PMSing or something?"

"I don't know, genius," Dean snapped in reply. "I haven't gotten my period since that first time."

Sam paused. "Wait…what?" Dean sat up, made wary by Sam's tone. "You haven't…Dude, you used protection with Castiel, right?"

There was a split second of nothing, and then Dean's eyes widened, and she clapped a hand over her mouth. "Oh," was all she said.

"Yeah. Oh. Man, are you kidding me? Don't you ever use protection?"

"It's never crossed my mind with Castiel! Usually we're, you know, both guys! I wasn't…" Dean looked away, eyes wide with horror, her lips parted as she stared at the blank wall across from her bed. "Sam, will you go buy me one of those test things?"

"Sure, Dean," Sam said, standing up. Then, just because he couldn't help himself – "Dude, when I suggested getting pregnant I didn't mean _actually _do it. It was a joke."

The next pillow hit Sam squarely in the chest.

* * *

><p>When Sam came back with the test, Castiel was already there. He was kneeling between Dean's legs and looking up at her, his hands on her knees and an expression that…well, it reminded Sam of the way he used to look at Jess. Or the way he liked to think that their Dad used to look at their mother. It was heartwarming.<p>

There were tears in Dean's eyes and she had a hand flattened over her stomach. Neither of them gave any indication of hearing Sam come in.

"But…I mean…what am I supposed to do?" Dean asked, sounding young and scared and Sam stayed still, not wanting to break the moment for the sake of his brother-sister's dignity.

Castiel blinked, his brow furrowing a little, before he moved one of his hands and placed it over Dean's. "It is your body, and your decision," he said, but his eyes were telling a whole different story. Dean bit her lower lip, rubbing her thumb over her flat stomach, and she nodded.

"It's yours," she said, as though it could be anyone else's, and Castiel nodded. "Then I love it. I want it. It stays."

And Castiel's smile was blinding.


	3. Trial By Fire

**Title:**Trial By Fire  
><strong>Author:<strong>HigherMagic  
><strong>Pairings:<strong> Michael/Lucifer (unrequited), Lucifer/OMC  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-16  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> ~ 1,900  
><strong>Spoilers: <strong>AU.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> _"Luci…oh, little Luci…shouldn't be in here all alone. Where's big brother?"_  
><strong>NotesWarnings:** Non-con/dub-con (non-graphic), and poor UST for Luci. This was written for a prompt from theinsaneeraser that she left me _ages _ago and I only just got around to. Sorry for the wait, hun – I guess Luci/Mike just isn't my thing.  
>Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.<p>

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><p>His hands are shaking, the shower water's way, <em>way<em> too hot, but he doesn't care. Every moment he allows himself to burn, he's cleansing himself. That's what Purgatory is, right? _'confined to fast in fires, Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature Are burnt and purged away'_ – the Ghost in Hamlet. That's what he's doing – this is his Purgatory.

He's scrubbing at himself until his skin is raw but it's not enough – it's not enough. When he closes his eyes he can _hear_ the bastard's breathing in the steady thudding of the shower water hitting his skin and the floor of the shower. The water's being tinged in red but he doesn't see it because he refuses to open his eyes, refuses to see that this is all just in his head because it's _not_.

"Lucifer? Luci?" There's a pounding on the door outside and it makes his heart go still for just a moment, leaves him breathless. He opens his eyes, almost expecting _him_ to be there, breathing down the back of his neck. He can feel the heat of _his _hands in the water, feel the pressure of_ him_ crushing Lucifer from behind. He whimpers and returns to scrubbing himself clean, knowing that he can never be clean. Not for goading the bastard on. Not for liking it.

"Lucifer! What's wrong? What's going on?"

_"Luci…oh, little Luci…shouldn't be in here all alone. Where's big brother?"_

It had been innocent. No one was meant to _know_. He bites his lower lip, closing his eyes again, wanting to go to a different place, a better place, but his body's aches remind him of what has just happened to him. His wrists are bruised from behind held down, and the side of his face hurts where his cheek was pressed into a combination lock on one of those garish red lockers.

His fingers scratch at his scalp as they comb through his hair, almost as though he's trying to rip the wet, curling blonde locks out of his skin, rip everything away. Shed his skin and start anew. He's gritting his teeth and breathing through the pain. Just keep breathing. Clench your teeth, make it good, move on.

"Lucifer, you're scaring me! What happened?"

_"'ve noticed you hanging out around here a lot." He'd backed away, knowing a wolf's smile when he saw it, but the guy was faster, and bigger, and a helluva lot stronger than he was. He was grinning so _widely_, so _wrong_. It wasn't like the gentle, affectionate smile of his older brother. When the guy's hands landed on him, it wasn't friendly and it wasn't kind. No…it wasn't kind._

"Michael," he whispers, the soap stinging his eyes when he opens them again, just letting the tears fall a little more easily. He's still shaking and he's ignoring the fact that the water's cooling down. Is he still scared or just cold?

He's not being subtle about this and there's no way in hell he's _trying_ to be. Michael's allowed to be concerned about him, but he just can't _know_. That's alright. As long as Lucifer doesn't say a name, doesn't give a face, doesn't _react_. He's safe. His shameful secret is safe.

He goes back to scrubbing.

_"Don't think we don't notice the way you shadow Mike like some lovesick girl?" The bastard's breath is rank and full of grease from the pizza at lunch, and Lucifer shivers as it clings to the back of his neck and coats his skin like oil. He clenches his fists and bares his teeth, trying to make himself as small as possible as the guy lazily rocks against and into him from behind. It hurts – _fuck_, does it hurt. So much. It's nothing like he'd imagined it would be, or what he wanted it to be. It's painful and it hurts and it feels like…_

_Tears prick at the corners of his eyes as the guy does _something_, and pleasure starts to stir deep in his belly. God, no, anything but this, but he has no control over it and he shudders, biting his lower lip and whimpering when the guy does it again, and again, and _God_, he's going to get off on this. As if it couldn't get any worse._

"Luci!"

_"Luci, Luci, Luci…"_

Lucifer jerks when hands land on him again, but they're not rough. They're not like the fantasy-dream-nightmare-memory. He makes a sound and it might be a scream or a whimper or a mewling sound but he's not sure which it is and, judging from the look on his big brother's face, it doesn't matter 'cause it sure as hell isn't good. Lucifer's bleeding – _when did that happen?_ – and Michael's eyes widen, seeing it. _God, he has beautiful eyes…_

Lucifer swallows and gets a hold of himself. He was punished for this – this stupid, unnatural, illegal, _evil_ lust he has for his brother. To indulge further is to invite the Devil in. This is why he was in Hell. He earned Purgatory and, if he controls himself, he will earn Heaven.

"God, Lucifer, what have you done?"

_Forgive me, brother, for I have sinned…_ Lucifer's dark blue eyes can't meet his brother's, not even when Michael tries to get them to. Vaguely he's aware of being wrapped in a towel and so thoroughly, so gently cleaned, that it makes him damn near want to burst into tears. Instead he just whines like a broken, wounded animal.

"Shh, Luci, it's alright, I've got you, little brother…" Lucifer sighs again, averting his eyes and hoping, praying, that Michael doesn't notice the – "What happened?"

_I can't tell you._ Lucifer shakes his head and makes another noise that has Michael biting his lip and his eyes darkening, like an angry tempest inside his iris, and he's _so beautiful_, and it _hurts_, looking at him, so Lucifer doesn't. He doesn't make eye contact and he doesn't notice the strong, warm arms wrapping around him with only a towel as a blockade. He doesn't take in the scent of his big brother – _warmth, safety, comfort, yes…_ - or his sun-kissed skin or his lips or –

Lucifer groans, burying his face in his big brother's neck. He is for Hell. It is decided.

Michael has to know, by now. There's only so many things that would have Lucifer fleeing from a football practice like Hell itself is chasing him, when he usually waits loyally for Michael to finish, change and they can walk or drive home together. Lucifer's not scared of much – he might be small and a little too smart to be safe in high school, but he's actually not intimidated all that easily, and Michael…Michael's head is down the road of rape and attempted murder, because he automatically jumps to the worst conclusions and he's terrified to think that he might not actually be wrong.

"Lucifer…" Michael's fingers touch bare skin – just his arm, and it's a safe place, a secure place that holds no lust, and that just makes Lucifer sink deeper into his despair, because Michael is pure, and holy, and good and everything that Lucifer cannot be, so he pushes his brother away, the towel falling, without a care for his nakedness because Michael practically raised him – he's seen all there is to see. "Luci, please, tell me what happened."

That childhood nickname grates on Lucifer's skin like a razor blade. He shivers.

"Nothing," he whispers, voice hoarse from tears and trying not to scream. "Let it be."

"How can I do that? Christ, Luci, look at yourself!" Lucifer flinches from his angry tone, tries to make himself smaller like before, and curls in on himself, wrapping his arms around his torso. He's braced himself for Michael's fury and his eyes are closed, but he doesn't receive a heavy hand – no, the hand that lands on his shoulder is full of warmth and care and goodness and it makes Lucifer sob. "Please, little brother…did someone…_do_ something to you?" Michael's stumbling over the words like he's trying to figure out how to say them without killing something, and he's biting it back behind his teeth, and Lucifer's tremors get a little worse. They're all the answer Michael needs. "Fuck, Luci, who was it? I'll rip them apart."

"No!" Lucifer replies, because the fault is not only _his_, but Lucifer's as well, and Lucifer might deserve death but he doesn't want Michael to be the one to kill him. "No, no…" He's shaking his head, holding it, fingernails digging into the half-formed crescent marks and Michael pulls his hands away, kneeling down in front of his brother.

"Okay, okay, it's okay Luci…shh…" There's a soothing hand in his hair like Michael used to do when they were kids, when a soft hand on his head was enough to drive the night terrors away, was enough to make everything right and whole and good again, and Lucifer smiles, finally opening his eyes and meeting his big brother's. He thanks whatever mercy God has left that _the guy_ doesn't look anything like Michael. Michael's smiling, hesitantly, just an upward quirk of the left side of his mouth, and he slides his hand around to rest at the back of Lucifer's neck, and massages at the tense muscles there, and then leans their foreheads together. It feels nice, that steady pressure on his pounding head, and Lucifer relaxes further. "Would you be willing to come the hospital with me?"

Lucifer balks and shakes his head vehemently. Hospitals mean people, and proof, and _records_. His shame will be there for everyone to see, burned into a piece of paper that a doctor can have access to, or therapists, and they talk, screw doctor-patient confidentiality. Or the _guy_ will go bragging – either way the secret will be out and Lucifer doesn't want to pre-empt it.

"Alright, alright, shh, it's okay," Michael replies, putting their foreheads together again, kneeling on the floor so his head is below Lucifer's so he's smaller and less threatening despite his bulk, and Lucifer takes a big breath, inhaling his big brother's scent. There's a long moment when there's silence, then Michael's biting his words again. "Was he…" Lucifer flinches. "…Safe? With you?"

_"Yes_," Lucifer whines, thanking God for small favors, that at least his Hell wasn't absolute. He wouldn't know how to deal if he could actually _feel_ the bastard…inside of him. He shivers just thinking about it, glad he doesn't have to.

"Good," Michael replies, sounding so relieved that it breaks Lucifer's heart, and he wraps his arms around Michael's shoulders, pulling the two of them closer together, and he allows himself to bask in his brother's affection, because it is forbidden and wrong and he won't be allowed to do it again. Not if he wants to get to Heaven. Maybe in Heaven they can be together, but until then…

"It'll all be okay, Michael," he whispers, and Michael makes this noise like he can't decide whether he should laugh or sob, and his arms go around Lucifer and tighten, restraining, but Lucifer doesn't mind, because this is _Michael_. Michael is warmth where _he _was burning. Michael is _trust _and _safety_, where _he _was intimidation and betrayal. His big brother smells dirty, like the football fields and sweat of the day and exercise and Lucifer inhales deeply, pressing his nose into Michael's neck, and lets himself be held in his brother's embrace, because when they part Lucifer will have to start again, and Heaven can wait.

Just a little longer.


	4. Homecoming

**Homecoming**

**Rating: R**

**Pairing: Michael!Dean/Lucifer!Sam**

**Michael's POV.**

**Author's Note 1: Sammael is supposedly Lucifer's name before The Fall. It goes well with Sammy.**

**Author's Note 2: This is, like, the shortest and weirdest thing I've ever written. Be gentle with reviews.**

* * *

><p>I can feel him, strong inside of me as I am inside of him. His body begs for air, for just a little bit more oxygen that will keep his weak, beautiful human body alive for seconds longer. It's up to me to grant it to him; my decision, my will is life or death, breath or stillness over this man and I wield it readily. I can choose to let up the pressure, let his lungs expand or deny him it for just a little longer. It won't kill him; me resisting. I can keep him alive without such trifle human needs.<p>

But I fold, and allow him a simple breath. His mind, soul and spirit relax against me, trusting one again with the knowledge that I will never cause him harm, be it temporary or unintentional. I will do everything in my power and more to make sure this man is never harmed again. His blood will never be shed, tears will never fall, for I am with him. Now and forever.

He can't run from me. He doesn't want to run from me. Not anymore; not now. Now that he's given me his permission, allowed this relationship to exist between us – though to him it is taboo and only to be considered under grave circumstances – I have the control now. I control _everything; _when he blinks, when he laughs and smiles and loves and kills. He gave me control willingly and now I have bound him, and he is mine.

Sam is not so easily put down. I can see pain on the younger Winchester's face as my brother fights against that human's strong mind and blood-strengthened soul. There is such love between these two and those two, and they all love so unconditionally…it is their downfall.

Sometimes – and this is a sin, I know – I envy that. To love so much, so_ fiercely, _that you will do absolutely anything, _everything _for a person, for they are everything, and without them you are nothing. The only person I ever allowed myself to feel that way for, apart from my ever-loving Father, stood across from me now, and was no different than when I struck him down millennia ago.

"Lucifer…" His body – his stolen, borrowed, given body – is exactly the same, for it's not the muscle and flesh and bone and blood I feel, but the Grace and the love and the ever-burning, ever-present light that is my most beloved brother…And it hasn't changed. Dark, twisted? No; the Morningstar burns more brightly than ever, drawn in by the promise of companionship from those that he loves and those that love him. Sam Winchester has been good for him; wearing his body has changed my brother for the better.

"Michael…" He pushes again, against my Grace, Lucifer and Dean fighting on opposing poles; one for dominance, the other for freedom, and I relent to one of them only. Which one? My Brother, of course…Dean can feel Sam through him and I, and we allow the Winchesters to come together and bask in each other in the safety of their minds.

I swear, from Lucifer and I no two brothers have loved each other more than these.

Sam Winchester's body fits against Dean's like a puzzle; a perfect fit to an imperfect design, and we crash together. Free-fall, it's like flying, being so close to so many relations that love each other so dearly. I can see why my Brothers and Sisters fall for them, fall to be them. Heat and warmth and light that could rival that of Heaven is everywhere in this room. Thousands of wings, hundreds of thousands surround us, encasing and caressing and loving and learning, relearning these new bodies that we will be inhabiting in the centuries to come.

_Sam…_ Dean presses again, and the force of it makes the body I live in now thrust, buried deep inside the heat. Lucifer moans and bucks up, hands tangled in the too-short hair of my vessel, baring the neck of his. A symbol of trust that Dean recognizes, for he pushes again and our combined wills find us sinking our teeth into our Brothers' neck, and we drink the lifeblood that is enhanced with Grace and there are no words, no words whatsoever that can describe these feelings.

_Dean…_ Lucifer…he knows his vessel, and he wants and he presses. Darkness and light surround us in equal measure and it's too much, almost; blood and life and light and Grace and I didn't know a human body could withstand so much.

There's a writhe to our motions now, two sets of Brothers and two sets of hearts that will and love and force us all together. I'm powerless, for the first time in my existence, to stop the feelings and the sensations, and if this means my Brother pulls me under and I spend forever surrounded by his light in the never-ending darkness, I shall take up the blade upon myself without a thought.

He's close, and so am I. Sam and Dean are so intertwined as to become one, separated only through the relative boundaries of human flesh. Lucifer writhes beneath me, a slave to me almost as much as Dean is, and through him, Sam. I control all of them now and the power high is such a rush that I almost go over the edge.

Father, I've missed my brother. I've missed the way he moans for me and only me, the way I can reach out and touch the feathers and wings that have seen many years of neglect, and even before The Fall were unreached by all expect me and Father himself…those pairs, two out of thousands, that no one had ever touched but me. I want to explore him all again. I want him by my side again.

"Lucifer, brother…my brother…" I withdraw our mouth from their neck and kiss them, our lips tainted with their blood and they taste like sin. Sam, Lucifer, Brothers…Dean and I love you…We love you. "Come home with me," we whisper against their lips, their skin, breathing the words like Enochian runes on their strong jaw and over their throbbing pulse. They shudder and moan and clench at us, trying to cause pain, to give us a reason to hate them…We will never hate them.

"Come home with me, with us. Brothers, come home." And I'm begging. We're begging, Dean and I, with all we have. We just want our Brothers home with us. "Please…" A sharp thrust, another bite, another kiss and lick and another murmur of love, and they are ours. Right from the moment we witnessed their birth and their Fathers brought them home, they were ours.

"Michael…" And beneath his voice there is an underlying plea of '_Dean'…_I know what they ask of us…They want forgiveness, they want reconciliation. It is not in my power to give, not anymore…but they are forgiven by us anyway. I do what it is not in my power to do and I welcome them home as they shudder and clench and whine beneath us, a hand closing around engorged flesh until he jerks and they're coming, crying out our names, love burning bright in Grace and soul.

If there was ever a time to love and forgive, this was it.

"Sammael…" _Sammy… _Hazel eyes flicker open, lock with green and I feel him Grace-deep. Lucifer pushes, Sam pulls and the four of us are one for a brief, heart-breaking and earth-shattering moment, and I am overwhelmed, releasing inside of our younger Brothers and there's no room for anything but _us, _here.

It's the first time we've used those names in a while. Now it's all they'll ever be called.

"Sammael…" _Sammy…_ I brush the curtain of hair away, exposing a sweaty, flushed face, and he's so warm underneath me, and I feel like my wings could shatter with the amount of love I feel for our Brothers and my vessel right now… I wrap him in my largest wings, a cocoon of gold and mercy and pull him close. Steel, stormy-cloud grey wings unravel against mine. "_…Welcome home."_


	5. Ocean Spray

**Title:** Ocean Spray  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** Dean/Castiel  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> biting, D/s, blood!play, rough sex, mentions of toys, wanton!needy!Dean, self lubrication  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~4,000  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Castiel changed Dean three days ago and, as a little treat to the new vampire, has taken Dean to the seaside to enjoy it as a vampire would.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. For **earth_heart** , kind of a vague continuation of Not To Be Wasted, but can be read on its own. I…don't know what this writing style is. Feels weird. Didn't beta this – on my way to church *awkward silence* Enjoy! :D

* * *

><p>It's been a long time since Castiel has traveled to the seaside – it's far away from his home, and often too sunny to really enjoy, until he had become an older vampire. Today, however, the sky is overcast perfectly, allowing Castiel and his newest Child to enjoy the soft, white noise of the ocean, the sharp sting of brine, and the cool breeze without being burned.<p>

Dean had completed his Change three days ago. He is now strong, a vampire, perfect in every way, though Castiel had been inclined to think of him as perfect _before_, as well. But now, with his heart still and his body cold, his green eyes brighter than Castiel has ever seen them, enhanced by his venomous blood, Castiel has created one of the most beautiful sights ever. Dean's blood has changed – the taste of him is different, but no less perfect, no less wondrous. It was like cutting whiskey with water; different flavors have been brought out and Castiel is more addicted to his no-longer-human charge than ever.

Castiel sits on a small outcropping of rock, gazing down into the rolling waves below him. He watches Dean dart about the rocks below, laughing like a child when the cold spray would hit him and roll off his body like a duck's back. Castiel has taken him to the most obscure part of the beach; a part that was too treacherous for humans, and where no one but Castiel will be able to admire the beauty of Dean in motion, wet swim trunks clinging to his muscular thighs, throat and neck marred with scars from Castiel's bites.

As though sensing his gaze, Dean stops where he was nimbly leaping across small, shallow pools of water, stopping and turning around to meet his Alpha's eyes. His expression is serene, joyous in a way that Castiel loves – adores, even; Dean's simple happiness and wonder. Castiel realizes, with a small pang of something like remorse, that he had never really let Dean out of his compound his entire life. Dean had never seen the ocean until Castiel brought him here.

Quick as a flash, Dean darts up the rocky outcropping, sure on his feet, strong fingers curling into handholds to haul himself up, and he smiles as he approaches Castiel, reaching out and curling cold, salt-water-lined fingers around the back of Castiel's neck, leaning in for a kiss. Since his change, Dean has lost a lot of his patience, and Castiel finds that endearing; as a human, sitting at Castiel's feet, Dean would wait for hours, on edge and needing Castiel's touch, but would never take until Castiel told him he could. Like this, though, he has no qualms or hang-ups – he's a greedy little slut, and Castiel loves him.

Castiel lets out a sharp, soft little sound in the back of his throat, willingly opening his mouth to the greedy, demanding press of Dean's tongue and teeth. The lesser vampire shivers when Castiel runs a hand under his arm, palm flattening, hot and claiming, over Dean's ribs in a gentle touch. They kiss repeatedly, Dean taking full advantage of not needing to breathe, his hands moving to press against Castiel's thighs to get him to spread them, so Dean can step closer.

"This whole place smells like you," he says, licking his lips before biting his lower, gazing at Castiel with half-lidded eyes. Castiel is enthralled with the slow drag of Dean's flush lower lip from his bright white teeth. "Like…oceans, and salt. Makes me…" He shakes his head, biting his lip again, and presses forward more insistently.

"Makes you what, Dean?" Castiel asks, amused, because he knows that look – he has raised the kid since he was three and fucked him since he was fifteen. He _knows_ that look.

Dean shivers, making a soft sound and shaking his head when Castiel's hand runs down the long, broad expanse of his back, settling in the dip of his spine and tugging so Dean's body slots more closely against Castiel's. "Makes you what, Dean?" Castiel repeats, his tone holding no room for refusal, this time.

Dean licks his lips, and if he could still blush, he would – now, his pulse is starting to pick up, lust and pheromones adding to the salt-sharp smell in the air. "Smells like you," he whispers, eyes flickering up to meet Castiel's gaze. "I…I smell it and…" His pupils are lust black, nostrils flared as he inhales. "I _need_."

Dean's scent moves in like an invading army, his pulse hot and fast now under Castiel's touch, and the Alpha vampire smiles, leaning in to ghost his breath across Dean's sensitive neck, the lesser vampire shivering and pressing forward with a wanton little mewl. "I can smell it," Castiel growls, his eyes flashing lust-black, feeling his mouth start to water. "You smell so good, Dean." The bare expanse of Dean's throat beckons him and Castiel leans forward, his free hand pulling Dean's hips between his legs, thighs clenching around thighs, the hand on Dean's spine sinking lower, underneath his wet swim trunks, and his teeth sheathe themselves in Dean's neck while his finger deftly teases his hole, fingers spreading to part his cheeks for Castiel's touch.

The lesser vampire lets out a sound between a groan and a mewl, hips rolling, begging for more of Castiel's touch, though the rest of him tries to be as still as possible so he doesn't rip his neck open from Castiel's teeth. His arms fly around his Alpha's shoulders, holding on desperately while his knees go wobbly and threaten to buckle.

He's breathing heavily by the time Castiel lets him go, licking along the bite wound and watching it close, and then he pulls back, watching Dean's lust-blown eyes take him in. Blood has smeared across his chin and mouth and Castiel thinks Dean probably doesn't even realize it, or make a conscious effort, when he falls forward and licks at the blood, licking his Alpha clean. He presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to Castiel's jaw, one hand stroking down Castiel's chest, to where he's hard in his own swim trunks, pressing his palm down against Castiel's erection.

"Alpha, Alpha…" It's a constant litany for almost a full minute, Dean thoroughly cleaning and kissing and nipping at every part of Castiel's chin, jaw and neck, his tongue scratchy-wet and his fingers clinging, desperately, to the back of Castiel's neck, and the Alpha lets him, eyes half-lidded and a purr rumbling low in his chest from the attention. "Alpha…let me?" He pulls away, just slightly, lips spit-slick and parted in a pant, hand closed around Castiel's erection through his trunks, and the Alpha nods, nostrils flared at the potent stench of pheromones in the air, the quiet shiver in Dean's body as he gifts Castiel with one of his loving, devoted smiles, and then plants another kiss to Castiel's jaw, green eyes flashing underneath thick lashes as he works to free Castiel's cock from his clothes.

Dean's palm is ocean-wet when he takes Castiel in hand and strokes, twice, crouching down between Castiel's legs and flashing a smile his Alpha's way. The warmth of Dean's mouth startles a low growl out of Castiel when Dean's lips close around the head, sucking like he's drinking, his tongue languidly and lazily learning each part of the head and the sensitive bundle of nerves underneath. He moans louder than Castiel does, the salty-rich flavor of his Alpha exploding across his tongue.

The Alpha vampire leans back, bracing one hand on the rocky outcrop, nails digging into the hard rock, while his other hand gently cradles the back of Dean's neck, thumb stroking along his hairline in a gentle encouragement. Dean's bright, glowing green eyes flash to him under sandy lashes, the boy's cheeks hollowed out as he sucks, his lips stretched almost obscenely around Castiel's cock.

The Alpha flashes a dark smile, shivering when Dean lets just the little tease of his bottom teeth graze the vein, and laces his fingers through Dean's hair, knotting and pushing down just a little on the back of Dean's head.

He leans forward again, shushing the lesser vampire when Dean whines in distress. "Shh, baby," he murmurs, bending forward and mouthing at the soft, damp tufts of hair on the side of Dean's head, smiling when Dean tries to tilt his head into the touch. "Take it all. I know you can." The hand that had been holding him up, now indented with tiny pieces of loose rock and sand, strokes down Dean's back, into the sensitive dip of his spine, just to feel the boy shake and mewl around him, as Dean slackens his jaw and tries to sink lower. "That's it. Such a good boy; knew you could do it."

Dean whines, trying to tilt his head to meet his Alpha's gaze, his pulse hammering away in his neck and a pretty pink blush starting in his cheeks. Castiel smiles, brushing a hand gently across Dean's cheek, his jaw, over his stretched lips, and presses in to feel his cock sliding in and out of Dean's mouth. He rolls his hips, wanting to go deeper, growling softly when Dean rears back, unable to take it all.

The boy pulls off, gasping, wiping the back of his hand across his spit-slick mouth. He won't meet Castiel's eyes. "S…Sorry, Alpha," he whispers, falling to his knees on the rock and hiding his face in the curve of Castiel's thigh. "I…I can't -."

"Shh, Dean," Castiel replies, smiling and petting through his boy's hair until Dean looks up at him. _Christ_, he's beautiful – he's _perfect_ in every way, his eyes still so innocent and bright and, even with his flushed cheeks and swollen lips, he looks angelic. "Come here, baby," he whispers, tugging on Dean's hair until the boy is forced to climb up onto his lap. Dean smiles faintly, wrapping his arms around Castiel's shoulders, and leans forward for a kiss.

"You'll learn," the Alpha whispers between the soft, teasing pressing of their lips against each other, breathing each other's exhales and the salty brine of the ocean, and the stench of Dean's pheromones in the air. "I know, one day, you'll be able to take all of me."

Dean whines softly, dipping his shoulders, throat bare to the press of Castiel's palm, and licks at his Alpha's lip in supplication. "I wanna try again," he whispers, shivering when Castiel's questing fingers trail down his spine, lower to spread out in a hot brand over the flesh of his ass. _"Please,_ Alpha – I know I can do it. Let me?"

Castiel chuckles, always amazed at how eager Dean is to please him – the air reeks of the hormones of sex, and he can feel slick that isn't just ocean damp on Dean's thighs. He pushes at his newest Child, forcing him to stand on lust-unsteady legs, and rises to his feet, pressing another kiss to Dean's eager mouth.

Immediately Dean falls to his knees, his hands reaching up and spreading out over Castiel's chest and stomach as he lowers his mouth to his Alpha's erection again. His knees are spread, back curved – it looks like he is paying homage to his God, his entire body dedicated to praise and adoration.

He seals his lips around the head, sucking as hard as he can while he gazes up at his Alpha's face. Castiel's eyes are lust-black, his cheeks flushed from his recent feed, and his hair is being continually tousled by the sea breeze – he's beautiful, his eyes burning like fire along Dean's skin, making him shiver when the breeze washes over him again. Desire and need flare up inside of Dean, able to feel his Alpha's lust as his own, _on top of_ his own, and he moans, the sound trailing off half-way into a whine; desperate to get Castiel's cock deeper in his mouth, because it feels _so good_, pleasing the Alpha makes him feel _so good_.

He digs his nails into the soft flesh of Castiel's back, sinking down lower when his Alpha rocks deeper into his mouth. He feels it when the head hits the back of his throat, and momentarily stills, trying to swallow past the sensation, and Castiel pulls out almost all the way, so just the head is in Dean's mouth, while he recovers. Bright green eyes flash up to meet the blue fire, gratitude and love burning deep in the wide, lust-blown pupil, and Castiel smiles when Dean sinks down again, managing to get further than before. He tilts his head, his jaw starting to cramp up from the pressure of sucking so hard, and his fingers close around the base of Castiel's erection, lightly pumping what he can't reach.

"Dean," Castiel whispers, palming the back of Dean's head gently, fingers twisting into the soft, sandy-brown hair. The young vampire makes a low sound in his throat – a purling kind of mewl as he looks up at Castiel, and the Alpha tugs gently on his hair. "Come here."

The boy almost stumbles in his hurry to stand up so fast, easily following Castiel's coaxing touch when Castiel pulls him forward, slanting their lips together. The taste of his precome lingers in Dean's mouth, salty and almost sour and he moans, lapping at the taste while Dean submits – his shoulders are dropped, and his back arching. His need, aching and _throbbing_ with desire, presses against Castiel's own erection and Dean whines, thrusting forward before he can help himself – he _needs_, so badly, and he wants his Alpha to satisfy him.

Dean gasps at the first press of Castiel's hand against his cock, the Alpha's warm, dry palm closing around his erection through his swim trunks and pumping once, twice, almost too hard, too slowly – he whines, pressing his face into Castiel's neck, biting his lower lip, baring his throat; tempting Castiel, any way he can.

His body presses up against his Alpha, letting the older vampire feel his smooth skin and supple flesh, ready and waiting to be bent to the Alpha's will; his heart is flying fast in his chest, pumping his warm and rich blood close to the surface of his skin for the Alpha's pleasure – his hands, greedy and almost possessive, land on Castiel, touch the places he knows Castiel likes to be touched. His lips and tongue drag and lap at Castiel's sensitive neck, nuzzling close to his Alpha with soft little whimpers and caresses and pleas, because he knows Castiel likes it when he begs.

Castiel smiles, pressing his cheek to the hinge of Dean's jaw, and scrapes his teeth against the soft skin. "Take these off, Dean," he whispers, thumbing at the edge of Dean's swim trunks, and the young vampire scrambles to obey, peeling the damp clothes off and baring his body to Castiel's greedy, hungry eyes. His thighs, slick and wet, shine in the low light.

An Alpha's blood is made for perfection – when Castiel changed Dean, he made the boy even more perfect; exactly what Castiel wanted of him. His body, altered to be slick at all times for his Alpha's cock, ready to be fucked at Castiel's leisure, had changed when he had become a vampire, giving him the ability to make his own slick. When he'd found this out, Castiel hadn't let Dean out of his bed for almost two days, only pausing to let Dean recover and drink and sate himself.

Castiel smiles, taking Dean by the hips and turning him around so Dean's back is pressed up against his chest. Immediately Dean whines, arching his back, encouraging his Alpha to mate with him, but Castiel's got other plans. He lets his cock fall between Dean's cheeks, able to feel the burning-hot center of his Child and mate, and shudders, pressing himself close and rolling his hips, grinding slowly.

Dean turns his head to one side, panting, green eyes totally blown in lust. The kiss they share is sloppy and uncoordinated, Dean's hand flying back to dig his nails into Castiel's thigh, pushing them closer together in the hopes that Castiel would slide into him, sating the burning _need_ inside of his body.

"Such a pretty boy," Castiel whispers, biting down softly at Dean's earlobe, licking onto the sensitive, thin skin below his ear. Dean whines, head thrown back, biting his lip, back arching so his ass is pressed as close as he can get to Castiel's hips. The Alpha wraps an arm around Dean's chest, pulling the younger vampire closer to him, and his other hand gently cups Dean's ass, fingers sliding between his cheeks to find the slick coating his thighs and entrance in a fine sheen. "So eager for me, baby – always so wet for me."

Dean moans, a low, guttural sound in his throat when Castiel sinks a finger straight into his tight, wet heat. His knees almost buckle, one hand fisting in the unruly hair at the back of Castiel's head in an effort to hold himself up, the other still clenched in his Alpha's thigh.

Castiel smirks against the soft, scar-marred skin of Dean's neck, and he licks along the most recent bite that he had dealt just before and Dean moans again – a high-pitched, whining sound that goes straight to Castiel's cock. "Please, Alpha -." He chokes off with a gasp when Castiel withdraws his finger, adding a second and crooking them both at the perfect angle to jab at Dean's prostate, and the boy almost falls to his knees, dragging Castiel down with him.

The Alpha growls, moving his arm to shove Dean's shoulders down, so the two vampires go rolling, slamming into the rock face, and Castiel has never been more glad for his Children's indestructibility, when Dean plants his palms against the rock – an action that would undoubtedly rip open the palms of a human – and presses back against Castiel's touch, eager for his fingers more deeply inside of him.

Castiel growls, impatience stabbing through him like a lightning strike, and adds a third finger inside of his boy, ignoring the little hiss of pain. Dean moans, head dropping forward, shoulders bunching in an effort to stay still. His fingers splay out, nails digging shallow furrows in the rock, and spreads his knees, arching back for Castiel's touch.

Seeing the broad, smooth expanse of Dean's back, muscles bunching and tightly-wound in pleasure like a drawn bow, Castiel snarls, mounting his boy with a feral growl and sheathing his teeth in the delicate skin of his neck. Dean howls, animal-like, his fingers clawing at the rocks until he hears them crack and split, his body shivering as Castiel grabs his hips and slams forward in one sharp thrust. The tight, wet heat of Dean's body sucks him in, beckons him, _begs_ him to go further, faster, harder, _…_

"Alpha!" It's a plea, a desperate mating call made by the most alluring creature Castiel has ever laid eyes upon, and Castiel snarls into the bloody flesh of Dean's neck, rocking forward again hard enough to send Dean onto his stomach, just barely catching himself on his forearms to avoid catching his face on the rocks – not that it would hurt him, but still. _"Cas_…"

"That's right," Castiel growls, pulling out almost all the way, shuddering at the way Dean clenches down on him, to keep him inside, before he thrusts forward again – more controlled, this time, with more intent and less animal instinct. Dean mewls, a low, broken sound rolling from his mouth, stretching his hands above his head so brace himself against the ground and push back against Castiel.

"Cas, please," Dean mewls, body shuddering and drawn taut, blood and slick and ocean spray marring his skin, his thighs tense and quivering from the strain of their position. "Please, Alpha, fuck me."

"So needy," Castiel whispers, chuckling darkly as he thrusts forward again, speeding up his rhythm, wanting to chase his orgasm and come inside his boy so that Dean will stop smelling of oceans – some base, very primal part of him _hates_ the stench of brine on Dean's skin, because it doesn't smell like _him_, no matter how much Dean argues otherwise. Besides, Dean's been so good, such a beautiful and perfect feeder and now he's Castiel's mate, claimed with his blood and body – he wants to make it good for Dean, wants to bring his mate to climax on his cock alone, if he can. "Insatiable, baby, that's what you are."

"_Alpha_," Dean whines, almost petulant, before he tilts his head and moves to brace himself up on his hands, turning his head for a shaky, off-center kiss, but it doesn't matter; Dean's mouth tastes of his own blood, of Castiel's semen, of honey and whiskey and spices and Castiel moans, thrusting forward more harshly, one hand coming forward to cup Dean's cheek and lessen the strain on his neck. He rolls his hips and knows immediately that he's found his mate's prostate, by the way Dean tightens up and gasps brokenly into his mouth. Castiel licks forward, wanting to taste Dean, as much as he can, and does it again, thrusting into the tight, wet heat of Dean's body and shivering at the little clench-shiver-roll of his spine and his ass around him.

"Think you can come for me, baby?" Castiel whispers, pulling away and nuzzling instead at Dean's neck. Dean's still turned, his upper body flattened on one side to the ground so his flank and neck is bare, submitting to the dominant male's press of teeth and tongue and lips. "Hmm?" Dean gasps when Castiel thrusts forward again, finding his prostate again and staying there with a maddening pressure. Dean whines and nods. "Do it, Dean – I want to see it."

With a soft, broken whimper, Dean locks up, his shoulders hunching, curling in on himself from the force of his orgasm as it skitters down his spine like a bullet, white exploding behind his eyes as he locks up suffocatingly tightly around Castiel. He comes so hard it almost hurts, nails digging into his palms harshly and pressing his fists against the rock. He would be ripping his skin open on it if he were still human.

Castiel purrs and nuzzles against the back of Dean's neck, listening to the choked-off whines and mewls of Dean in orgasm. He rocks forward again, still hard, enjoying the tight clench of Dean's body and fucking him through it, selfish with his own orgasm now as Dean, shivering and gasping, goes limp and just lets him.

It almost hurts, Castiel striking his prostate brutally, Dean's oversensitive body too responsive to Castiel's touch of fingers and mouth and cock, but the lesser vampire takes it willingly, loves that his Alpha is still inside of him, still fucking him – he wants Castiel to come, wants him to fill Dean up; his own pleasure is more important than Dean's.

"Alpha," he whispers, leaning back and threading a hand through the back of Castiel's hair, tilting his head for a kiss that Castiel grants him. They relearn each other's mouths as Castiel finally stills, biting down on Dean's lower lip as he empties inside of the lesser vampire, Dean's body seeming to milk him for his orgasm.

Castiel stays inside, gently rocking his hips, until he is too soft to continue, and pulls out, Dean's slick and his come leaking out of Dean and the young vampire mewls, flattening himself to the ground in submission and invitation when Castiel leans over him, nuzzling and licking at his neck, at the newest bite mark that he dealt during their mating.

"Can we come back here?" Dean asks, eyes glowing dimly in pleasure, a soft smile on his beautiful face, lips spit-slick and swollen, cheeks still adorably flushed, and Castiel smiles, brushing some of his fringe back from his face.

"Definitely."


	6. I Got A Bad Case Of Lovin' You

**Title:** I Got A Bad Case Of Lovin' You  
><strong>Author: <strong>highermagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** Dean/Castiel  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> End of 6x22  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> self lubrication, excessive oil-gland!kink, wing!kink, heat!kink  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~3,000  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Dean can't help but hide a smirk as he waltzes into the doctor's office. This particular wing of the hospital is for mixed patients – there are humans as well as Angels in the ward today, and he gets his fair share of curious eyes when he walks in and sits down in one of the ugly blue plastic chairs. He closes his eyes, smiling to himself when he hears a few Angels sniff the air curiously.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Written for this prompt at the deancaskink meme. Hope you like it, angel_kink!

* * *

><p>Dean can't help but hide a smirk as he waltzes into the doctor's office. This particular wing of the hospital is for mixed patients – there are humans as well as Angels in the ward today, and he gets his fair share of curious eyes when he walks in and sits down in one of the ugly blue plastic chairs. He closes his eyes, smiling to himself when he hears a few Angels sniff the air curiously.<p>

There's a light flush high on his cheeks, and a small amount of sweat forms in his hairline, running down the nape of his neck. That's the only outward sign that Dean is going into heat at all.

That, and his soaked wings. He's only wearing a t-shirt, and the back of it is completely plastered to him like a second skin, the white material going see-through against the muscles in his back. Dean slouches low in his seat, spreading his legs out so that the other Angels – those that are watching with barely disguised interest, God, he can feel the heat of their gazes on him – can see his body, and admire the stretch of his legs encased in almost-too-tight, light colored jeans, and the flatness of his stomach and the muscles in his arms and shoulders, the curve of his neck.

The scent of pheromones in the room is almost stifling – Dean knows it's his fault. It makes his lips curve upward slightly in pleasure, eyes going glassy and half-lidded as he feels his body react to the pheromones in the air. The humans live on, oblivious to the complex Angel interactions going on around them.

Dean, as a submissive male, is designed to call potential mates to him in Heat. However, the scent of another Angel lingers on him, thick and heady like he's coated in oil. It keeps the other Angels at bay, for now, but Dean knows – notes it with a soft laugh of pleasure – that if his mate doesn't sense him soon and hurry his ass up, there will be other suitors coming to proposition him, mated or not.

The thought sends a small tremor of excitement through Dean.

"Goodbye, Mister Adler, and don't forget to apply that twice daily." The low, rough voice draws Dean's attention, and the young Angel's head snaps up, nostrils flaring in an attempt to scent the air. Almost immediately, a figure rounds the corner into the waiting room, and stops dead.

Dean watches with no small amount of amusement as Castiel's eyes go completely blown – in almost no time at all, the only scent that Dean can smell is Castiel's; overpowering, eliminating every other Angel's mating call in the room. He stands, leaving a damp spot where he had been seated, and smiles at Castiel.

"I'm here for my appointment, Doctor Novak," he says, taking a casual step forward, flashing teeth in his smile. His wings rustle gently behind him, fanning the air casually, and blowing his scent towards Castiel.

The older Angel's nostrils flare wide, his expression twitching slightly into something just a little bit feral. "Of course," he says stiffly, taking a small step to one side and gesturing back behind himself. "This way, Mister Winchester."

The way he says his name sends a shiver up Dean's spine. The flush on his cheeks becomes more pronounced and the young Angel dips his gaze, lashes dropping coyly over his vivid green eyes before he takes a step forward. He can practically _taste_ the other Angels' jealousy as he brushes one of his oil-slick wings against the front of Castiel's open lab coat.

The other Angel practically walks _on_ him while Dean makes his way slowly to Castiel's office. The trek isn't far, but he draws it out, pretending to trip up so that Castiel, as close as he is, stumbles right into him, and Dean bites the inside of his cheek when he feels his mate's erection jutting into the back of his thigh. It damn near makes him fall to his knees right in the corridor and beg to be fucked, and Dean shivers, wings spreading out slightly in invitation, when he feels a whole new layer of slick and oil leak from him.

Dean enters the office, dark green eyes casting around to see how everything is so neatly put in place. He licks his lips – he's not sure what the urge is; maybe to create the organized chaos of a nest, or just because seeing everything fucking _perpendicular_ to each other ruffles his feathers like nothing else – but he just wants to make a _mess_ of this office, to cover it in his oils, mark it and everything inside of it as _his_ territory.

"Dean." The short, sharp growl of his name has the younger Angel's feathers rustling softly, the sound muted underneath the rapid pants coming from Dean's parted mouth and Castiel's ragged growls behind him.

He…God, he wants to flatten himself to the ground for his mate. He wants to bare his belly and his oil glands and just let Castiel go crazy – he wants to _fuck_, to have Castiel so deep inside of his ass Dean can taste him in his throat, ramming hard and fast like he does when Dean's just come and he's all lazy and pliant and Castiel can just have at him.

There a soft gasp behind him, and then Castiel is suddenly there. Strong arms encircle Dean's waste, Castiel flattening himself into the space between his young mate's eagerly spread wings, and Dean's knees buckle – they both sink to the ground, Dean spreading his knees out so that he can sit more on Castiel's lap, feel more of his mate against his back and wings. Castiel's arms lock across his chest, under his arms, one fist laying over his heart, the other hand flattened over the bulge in his damp jeans.

"What do you mean," Castiel whispers, his stubble a rough scratch across the nape of Dean's neck, his lips chapped and dry, his voice low and gravelly, "coming here, to the place where I work, smelling like you do?" His arms tighten, pulling him back more firmly, and Dean – God, he just _goes_, goes because he needs his dominant's touch, needs his orders, needs to please him totally and completely.

When he's thinking more normally, Dean can give Castiel a run for his money in the personality department – he's stubborn as a mule and fights about _everything_. Something about the heat, though, makes him nothing more than a willing slave to Castiel's will, desperate to be bent and used for his dominant's pleasure.

"You should be at home," Castiel growls more, baring his teeth against the back of Dean's neck and nipping slightly at the thin, delicate skin, "thinking about me, fucking yourself and keeping yourself locked away until I get home."

Dean whines, his wings flaring up and backwards to meet Castiel's. The older Angel's wings are huge – a deep ,deep royal blue with black on the edges of every feather so he looks like a mottling of light and shade, the carpal joints arching high over his head and tips barely touching the ground. Castiel's wings are meant for power, compared to Dean's more delicate hawk-like wings, meant for speed. The younger Angel's tawny provides a light contrast to the jet blue, feathers, sticky and wet from oil, meshing together and rubbing to create a thick nest to cover and shield them from prying eyes or danger.

"Please," Dean whispers, rocking his hips back in a teasing grind against his dominant's cock, throwing his head back against Castiel's shoulder. His beautiful eyes are glassy and unfocused in pleasure and need, his full lips parted and panting, wet t-shirt slicked to his back and almost completely see-through.

"You, Dean Winchester," Castiel whispers, shaking his head and thrusting forward, dry, against Dean's wet jeans, "are a siren." Gently, his palms flatten over Dean's chest, running down, and then he finds the hem of his mate's damp t-shirt, tugging gently until Dean gets with the program and helps him remove it over his head, flattening his wings to take it completely off until Dean's chest is bare to Castiel's caress. "Let me see you, Dean."

The urge to flatten to his belly becomes irresistible, and Dean whines, folding forward so his forearms are braced against the cold linoleum floor, fists clenched, knees spread out as far as he can get them. His wings flare up, high over his body and out, giving Castiel all the access to the sensitive underside he can.

Castiel groans, falling forward, his hands grabbing onto Dean's hips, biting at Dean's ass through his jeans where his scent is strongest, and Dean moans softly, head dropping, shoulders hunched in pleasure as he tries to keep himself upright and prevent himself doing a face-plant on the floor.

"So _fuckin' _pretty," Castiel growls, his fingertips drawing patterns in the fine sheen of slick oil coating Dean's back, making his muscles shine. His oil smells of woodsy incense and spices, of sugar cane and leather. Unable to resist, Castiel kneels up, his belly pressing against Dean's ass and pushing his mate further forward, so his body is one long, smooth stretch for Castiel to explore, and lowers his mouth to the sensitive dip of his mate's spine. Dean _howls_, sound silenced when one of Castiel's oil-slicked hands fly to his mouth, sticking two fingers between his lips and making him suck them to silence him. Dean moans again, this time muffled, a more broken sound, his wings flaring up and flattening to the ground in submission when Castiel's fall over his.

The older Angel's other hand slides up Dean's back, the glide so slick and easy because of how wet Dean is getting for him, and Dean's trembling by the time Castiel's questing fingers bury themselves in the thick downy feathers, all ruffled and sticking together and surely driving Dean wild with frustration. His eager, nimble fingers find the small nub, steadily leaking oil, and he presses down, laying a bite to Dean's back at the same time he curls his fingers down Dean's throat, and deeper into Dean's wing.

His young mate – his young, responsive, so eager-to-please-and-wet-with-heat mate – convulses underneath him, letting out a broken little whimpering sound at the combination of so many sensations at once. Dean's eyes clench tightly shut and his wings shudder, drawing in tight to his back to try and shut Castiel out.

The older Angel growls, biting at Dean's back again. _"No_," he snarls, forceful, demanding, and Dean whines again. There are tears in his eyes when Castiel presses down on his oil gland once more, oil spurting out, thick and honey-scented, down his back. He's leaking so much that he's kneeling in a slowly-forming puddle on the floor.

"This is what happens when you tease, Dean," Castiel murmurs, pushing his fingers more deeply into Dean's mouth and then withdrawing them, fucking Dean's mouth with his fingers while his other hand steadily milks Dean's oil gland. "This is what happens when you can't be patient – when you have to come flaunt yourself like the greedy little slut you are."

Dean's body convulses again, the young Angel making another desperate sound. Castiel thinks he hears words, muffled around his fingers. "What was that, baby?" Castiel murmurs, pulling his fingers out and instead gripping Dean's ribcage in his saliva-slick hand, gathering up more oil from Dean's other wing on his fingers.

"Please, Cas," Dean whines, dipping his shoulders and arching his back, his arms stretching out in front of him so he can brace himself, rolling his ass back against Castiel's erection that he can feel on the back of his thigh, where his body clenches so hungrily to be filled. "Please, so sorry, couldn't wait – _please_." Dean whines, choking, shaking his head. "Don't leave me like this. I _need_ -."

"I know what you need, and when," Castiel growls, kneeling up and fumbling with oil-slick hands at his pants, enough to free his cock and stroke it once, hard. Dean moans at the sharp scent of precome that bursts through the air between them. Then, Castiel's hands are at Dean's own jeans, impatiently snapping he button and pulling the zip down, enough so that he can peel Dean's wet clothes from his ass. He's so _wet_ for Castiel, skin so wet with oil and natural lubricant that Castiel can barely hold on when he grabs Dean's hips, instead hooking his fingers in the bunch of material around his thighs.

He leans forward, his cock riding the crease between Dean's cheeks and smirks at his mate's low, desperate whine.

"Please, please, please…" Dean keeps begging as Castiel rocks his hips against Dean's, the older Angel gently nuzzling between his mate's sensitive wings, nipping and licking at the soft, downy feathers. "Cas, please! God _damn it_, I -."

"Shh," the black-winged Angel replies, licking at the bite mark he left behind on Dean's back, and rocks back, letting the head rest against Dean's eager hole. He pushes forward and Dean's body parts so willingly, accepting him so graciously inside of the tight_, wet_ heat.

Dean _mewls_, wings flaring up high against Castiel's, rubbing their feathers the wrong way, and when Castiel bites down at one of his wings, one hand moving to grab at Dean's unmilked gland, the young Angel comes, his cock still trapped in his jeans so he ends up coming in his pants like a teenager. His body clenches deliciously around Castiel, so tight and welcoming and _needing_, greedy with his need, that the Angel slams forward without a thought, hilting himself inside of his young mate in one smooth thrust.

_"Cas_," Dean gasps, unable, it seems, to say more than his lover's name. _"Cas_, God…"

Castiel chuckles, the hand still hooked in Dean's jeans moving to his other wing, and he begins a steady rhythm inside of his mate, pressing against the gland so Dean's body is incredibly slick with sweat and oil and lubricant and saliva. He looks decadent, looks like a whore, a slave to Castiel's desires, so perfect and pretty.

The older Angel pulls out, suddenly, and Dean _snarls_ at him, angry at being denied.

Castiel laughs, swatting his mate on the ass. "Roll over, Dean. Let me see you." In a flash Dean's on his back, wings splayed out, wrists on the floor by his head like an offering to Castiel, and the Angel smiles, cupping Dean's ass and lifting his hips to slide right back in.

Dean moans, throwing his head back. He can feel himself harden again, the effects of his heat meaning his recovery time is about the same as his lasting time – that is, almost nothing. "_Fuck_, Cas, harder, _please_, I can take it."

"I know you can," Castiel replies, biting at Dean's throat, mouthing at his jaw, licking his lips – marking him in any way he can as his hands find the sensitive underside of Dean's wings again. The glands are almost a regular size now, no longer swollen with oil and each touch must be almost painful, Dean's body so over sensitized and strung out, but Dean still arches into the touch, still so needy after already having come.

Selfish with his own orgasm now, Castiel picks up the pace inside of his young lover, biting into Dean's mouth to muffle both their sounds as he chases his orgasm. He barely lasts long at all – usually doesn't in the first stages of Dean's heat – and soon he's coming, stilling inside of Dean with a groan and filling the young Angel up with his seed. Dean stiffens, feathers ruffled, breath coming in a choked gasp as he feels Castiel filling him, and then, almost like a rug being swept from under his feet, he collapses, his heat abating for now.

Castiel smiles, breathing heavily as he recovers, and leans down for another kiss. It's slow, this time, and lazy – meeting and parting and meeting again in a press of lips and tongues, Dean's hand cupping his mate's jaw to keep him close, wet fingers knotting in Castiel's hair. They both look a mess, barely undressed and covered in all sorts of bodily fluids, but, Dean thinks as Castiel rolls his hips, spilling one last time inside of him before pulling out, it was totally worth it.

Dean smiles lazily up at Castiel as the older Angel sits back, still trying to catch his breath, and Dean rolls onto his stomach, spreading his wings out lazily, letting his mate get a good look at what he's done to Dean.

"Doctor, Doctor, gimme the news," he sings halfheartedly, choking off when he hears Castiel growl and feels fingers spreading him open, before there's a wet tongue between his cheeks, and Dean mewls, pressing his cheek against the floor, hands reaching back and bracing himself against the ground as he arches his hips up, loving the feeling of Castiel's tongue deep inside of him.

Castiel rumbles, licking the last of his come and Dean's slick from the outside of Dean's hole, and presses a kiss to the slight dip in the small of Dean's back, before he leans up and flattens himself over his mate. His wings spread out, possessive and claiming, over Dean's wings and he nuzzles into the nape of his young mate's neck, pressing a kiss there.

Dean smiles, folding his forearms under his cheek. "Lemme guess," he says lightly, "you're cancelling all the rest of your appointments today."

Castiel's warm laughter does things to the pit of Dean's stomach, and the young Angel flushes when he feels warmth start to spread all through him again. "Don't I always?" he replies, combing a hand through Dean's sweat-slicked hair, and turns his face to one side to kiss him again. Dean moans softly, rolling his hips back, whimpering when he feels Castiel hard again, cock pressed against his ass.

"Please," he whispers, desperate to feel his dominant deep inside of him again, and moans when Castiel obliges, sliding back inside of Dean's loosened, pliant body.

"Anything you wish," Castiel replies with a soft growl.


	7. Breakfast In Bed

Title: Breakfast In Bed  
>Author: HigherMagic<br>Pairings: Dean/Castiel  
>Rating: PG-15<br>Word Count: ~2,700  
>Spoilers: Castiel, but different.<br>Warnings: unbearable amounts of schmoop and fluff.**  
>Summary:<strong> Early morning sunlight lazily pushed through the faded, semi-closed curtains that shielded half of the inside of Dean's room in Bobby's house. The window was cracked open just slightly, letting the soft whistles and tweets of birds slide in along the soft dappling of light that came through the lone tree outside of Dean's window, caressing over the Hunter in warm golden touches.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Benny wanted fluff. So I shall give him the fluff. Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

><p>Early morning sunlight lazily pushed through the faded, semi-closed curtains that shielded half of the inside of Dean's room in Bobby's house. The window was cracked open just slightly, letting the soft whistles and tweets of birds slide in along the soft dappling of light that came through the lone tree outside of Dean's window, caressing over the Hunter in warm golden touches.<p>

It had been a warm night, and so Dean was naked aside from boxers and a thin sheet wrapped tightly around his body, tangled and folded during the night until the Hunter was cocooned in his own comfy little heat. Dean sighed sleepily, just on the verge of wakefulness but content to linger a little longer in sleep.

A crashing sound and a muffled half-curse woke Dean up fully. The Hunter sat up, the sheet falling from his shoulders and pooling around his waist, and rubbed at his eyes tiredly. The house was very heavily warded so Dean suspected that it wasn't anything evil coming to attack them. Another curse, this time softer, brought a gentle, amused smile to Dean's face.

Castiel.

Sam and Bobby were not in the house with them – they'd gone to leave the mated pair in their little honeymoon phase and had taken a hunt down south, in Florida. So Dean and Castiel had had the house all to themselves and, well, if Bobby didn't need to know that his windows had been continually broken and mended, then, he didn't need to know.

The old wooden floor was cool and hard against Dean's feet when he rolled to the side of the bed, letting his feet fall over the edge, and then shoved himself upright. He didn't see the need to get dressed – knowing Castiel, the way things had been going, he'd just rip Dean's clothes off as soon as he saw him. Castiel seemed to have a personal vendetta against Dean's clothes. Not that the man was complaining – it was kind of hot, seeing Cas get all dark and _musthaveyounow_ like that.

His footsteps were almost silent as he padded out of the room and down the hall, wiping the rest of his sleep from his eyes and scrubbing a hand through his hair to try and tame the initial messiness of it in the morning.

Bobby's kitchen faced the same way as Dean's room, so the room was filled with the same lazy golden light. It lit up the normally dark space, adding a polished gleam to the pans hanging on one end and making the dark wooden cabinets look a bit more cheery.

Dean smiled, propping himself against the door frame, arms folded over his bare chest, at the sight he saw there.

It was something out of a cartoon, perhaps – a really adorable one. Castiel, whatever he had been attempting, had managed to get flour in his hair and down one side of his face. It coated his light blue t-shirt and sleep pants that he'd bought after decided that sleeping in a business suit couldn't be the most comfortable thing in the world, and some of the flour still floated, little dust motes in the air. The Angel coughed onto the back of his hand, eyes narrowed in intense concentration as he looked down at the cause of the flour explosion – a half-open bag, spilling into a mixing bowl that Dean could only assume held some kind of batter.

Dean cocked a brow, wondering what Castiel was doing. "Need some help?" he asked, voice still low and rough with sleep, and Castiel's eyes widened; he straightened up, turning around and moving so his body blocked the mess.

"Dean." The Angel paused, eyes tracking up and down his Hunter's body. He hadn't gotten dressed from bed – the sunlight was high enough through the window to light his legs and chest, making his skin look paler in the light. Castiel swallowed, unable to help himself as he took in Dean's adorably sleep-flushed cheeks, his warm eyes and disheveled hair.

Dean smirked a little, noticing Castiel's look. "And what are you doing down here," he murmured, straightened up a little and flashing teeth in his smile, "when you could be upstairs, doing me?"

Castiel licked his lips, and swallowed. "You shouldn't be up yet," he said, eyes wide like he'd been caught doing something bad. He looked over his shoulder quickly and sighed. "I wanted to surprise you."

"What with?" Dean asked, cocking his head the other way and standing tall, stepping into the kitchen and plastering himself along his lover's back. Castiel closed his eyes, letting his head fall forward as Dean nipped at the pale skin of his neck, hands slowly circling Castiel's waist and spreading out, warm and huge, over his belly. "Whatcha up to, Angel?"

"I wanted to make you breakfast in bed," Castiel replied, trailing a hand through the flour pile, and _no_, he _wasn't_ pouting, thank you very much. "For the past few days all we have been doing is fornicating and I know enough about human customs to realize that eating at least a few times is in order, particularly after the night of said fornication."

Dean chuckled, shaking his head, and nuzzled into the sensitive skin below Castiel's ear. Castiel couldn't help but smile, hearing Dean's laugh, and the Angel closed his hands over Dean's, lacing their fingers together, and turned around, putting Dean's hands back to his sides.

"So you need to go back to sleep," he finished, a slight smile curving his mouth. "Then I can do it right."

Dean smiled again, eyes sparking with humor and affection, and he lifted a hand so he could cup Castiel's flour-dusted cheek, making the Angel's smile widen. "Alright," Dean conceded, leaning down and stealing a quick, chaste kiss from Castiel's mouth. "But if you're not back up in an hour I'm coming down and haulin' you up there myself."

"I understand, Dean," Castiel said, taking it like the gravest of news, and Dean just laughed again, turning around and padding back upstairs. Before he even reached the second landing he heard another crash and a muffled yelp.

He paused. "Need some help, Cas?" Dean asked, brow furrowing in bemused concern.

"I'm alright, Dean," came Castiel's exasperated reply. "Go back to bed."

Dean rolled his eyes. "'D be more tempted if you were there too," he muttered, loud enough for Castiel to hear him, for he heard the Angel's low, gravelly laughter as he finished ascending the stairs and headed back to his room. He settled back on the bed to wait.

* * *

><p>Ten minutes later and Dean had dozed off, lulled to sleep by the perfectly warm morning and the feeling of contentment and love wrapped around him from where Castiel had bonded his Grace to Dean's soul. Even the occasional flashes of panic and exasperation were not enough for Dean to stay awake, as Castiel continued his attempts to make Dean breakfast in bed. Dean was sure that, in any other circumstances, he'd protest being treated like the 'chick' in the relationship, but every time he thought that the twinge in his ass reminded him very pointedly that, well, maybe he'd earned a bit of pampering from Castiel and if the Angel felt like making him breakfast in bed, well, Dean wasn't going to argue.<p>

* * *

><p>"Dean."<p>

The Hunter was roused into wakefulness by a gentle touch on his shoulder, and he was aware of the bed dipping beside him, his Angel obviously done with what he was trying to do and returning to him. Dean smiled lazily and scooted over to make room for Castiel, momentarily forgetting that Castiel had been doing something and just wanting to feel his lover's body next to his, warm and safe, but then Castiel chuckled and Dean forced his eyes to open, to see what was so funny.

He'd cleaned himself up a little bit but there was still a little flour stuck in his hair, and Dean smiled, flashing teeth as he sat up. There was flour and what looked suspiciously like blueberry jam smeared across the front of his t-shirt, and Castiel's eyes flashed away from Dean. The Hunter followed his gaze.

"Holy -."

"Shh, Dean," Castiel interrupted before he could blaspheme.

The Angel had laid out an entire banquet. Dean's eyes widened at each dish, carefully placed on the bed and perfectly spaced apart so that each dish had its own little place within the whole array. There was a huge stack of pancakes, thick and bulging with blueberries and smothered in syrup, and they looked delicious and puffy and they _smelled_ amazing. There was bacon, and honey ham, and all different types of fruit artfully displayed or in bowls in their own juices. There was a bowl full of scrambled eggs and poached eggs beside that, and at least three different types of potatoes.

"How in the world did you _do_ all this?" Dean asked, rubbing a hand over his face, for he was sure he hadn't been sleeping _that _long.

Castiel gave a humble little half-shrug, dipping his head down and smiling shyly when Dean looked over at him. "I might have cheated a little bit," he admitted, tracing a finger over the closest dish, which was a bowl full of sliced peaches and blackberries. "I slowed time down considerably so that I could do it all." He paused, looking up again. "Is it satisfactory?" he asked, eyes naïve and just so innocently hopeful and Dean couldn't help but smile.

"Yeah, Cas, it's amazing," he replied, and the Angel graced him with one of his smiles. Dean leaned forward, cupping Castiel's cheek, and pressed their lips together, overwhelmed with the amount of love and affection pulsing into him through their bond from Castiel.

Castiel made a soft sound in the back of his throat, tilting his head to meet Dean's kiss, and gently licked into his mate's mouth, demanding entrance that Dean willingly granted, smiling into the kiss as Castiel bit down on his lower lip and licked over the sore spot, the Angel positively glowing with pleasure, having made his mate happy.

Then, Castiel pulled away. "Eat," he ordered softly, jerking his head back towards the multitudes of food.

Dean looked at them all, unsure where to start first. He could feel Castiel's bright blue eyes on him, searching his face for his verdict while Dean decided what he would try first. The stack of pancakes seemed like they were beckoning him, so finally he leaned over and grabbed that plate. Castiel, with a smile, handed him a knife and fork.

Dean smiled slightly and cut off a piece of the top-most pancake, dipping it into the syrup pooling at the bottom before sticking it in his mouth. Immediately the flavor of blueberries and the sweet syrup exploded on his tongue and he let out a very undignified moan, eyes widening at the exquisite taste. He'd never tasted anything so good in his life.

_God fucking damn it_, he muttered in his head, because his mouth was full and Castiel wouldn't let him say that sort of thing aloud, now that they were mated. Instead, he just turned his head to look at Cas, hoping his expression said enough.

The Angel was watching him with sincere, hopeful eyes. "Good?" he asked, cocking his head to one side, and Dean nodded. He was torn between wanting to swallow so his mouth was free to tell Castiel how freaking amazing this was, but at the same time, _Jesus_, he never wanted the taste to leave his mouth.

"You should really try this," Dean said emphatically when the first bite was swallowed, already onto the next.

Castiel frowned. "But I do not require sustenance."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Maybe not _require_, but there's a lot of things people don't _require_ that they have anyway, and Cas…these are really, really good." He waved a forkful of pancake in front of the Angel's face. "Try it."

"Dean…" That was Castiel's 'I'm humoring you but this will only go so far' voice. Dean rolled his eyes and sighed.

"Fine," he replied, popping the bite into his mouth instead, and then a thought crossed his mind. He smirked and Castiel's eyes narrowed at the devious little glint in the human's eyes, before Dean was on him again, licking into Castiel's mouth before the Angel could think to protest.

Dean tasted like blueberries and sweet maple and Castiel gasped, surprised at the amount of flavor that spread over his senses. It was pleasant – very much so. The scent of food had never enticed him so much as the flavor of the pancakes in Dean's mouth.

He chased the taste when Dean pulled away, licking his lips, eyes dark with desire. "See?" Dean rasped, one of his victorious grins on his face. "Tastes good, doesn't it?"

"Yes, Dean," Castiel whispered in reply, his voice low and dark and Dean shivered, retreating again to eat some more, though he was sure to share the taste of the pancakes with Castiel every now and again, especially when the Angel got impatient and crawled up behind Dean, pressing his cheek against the Hunter's jaw, his legs opening to frame Dean's and pull the human back to rest against his chest. His hands spread out along Dean's belly, arms strong and comforting around the Hunter and Dean smiled, letting himself bask in Castiel's warm affection while the food filled his stomach and added to the bone-deep contentment.

Eventually Dean was done with the pancakes, and set the plate aside with a contented sigh. Castiel smiled, nuzzling against Dean's neck. "Are you full?" he asked, smiling a little when Dean lolled his head to one side so he could see Castiel's face.

He huffed slightly. "I really wish I could say 'No'," he said with a wince, "but yeah, I think I am." He looked back towards the huge array of food. "Sorry Cas – I don't want all this to go to waste."

Castiel chuckled, and with a wave of his hand the food disappeared, sent off to whatever plane Angels sent things to. "I can return it when you are hungry again," he said at Dean's confused, slightly guilty look, smiling at his mate when Dean's eyes sparked with mirth and happiness.

"Cheating again," he teased, turning around in Castiel's hold and moving so he was straddling his mate's legs, Castiel arms circling his torso and settling quite happily in the small of his back. Castiel gave his little half-shrug again, biting his lower lip before looking up to meet Dean's vibrant green eyes. The sunlight cast half his face in shadow, adding more shades to them and Castiel leaned up, his hands sliding down Dean's back just a little, enough to flatten his palms over the smooth curve of his mate's boxer-covered ass, and hitched Dean closer, letting their parted lips slide together just briefly. He could still smell blueberries on Dean's breath.

Dean's eyes went half-lidded, a lazy smile curling his mouth while his hands found comfortable places to rest, threading through Castiel's flour-dusted hair and tracing the line of his neck. The Angel's breath caught when Dean's warm weight settled more heavily and perfectly over him, letting as much as was possible for them to touch, to touch.

Slowly, the Hunter leaned down, his hands tightening in Castiel's hair before he let their lips meet – just a soft press of dry mouths, Dean's bottom lip caught between Castiel's, until the Angel tilted his head and let his mouth open, and then they were breathing each other's scents, tasting their air, and Dean shifted a little closer, feeling the first warm eddies of arousal stirring low in his gut.

He felt an echo of Castiel's lust pulse through their bond, and stifled a low moan against his Angel's mouth. "You wanna?" he asked, rocking his hips again, sending them both shivering.

And then suddenly Dean was on his back, Castiel hovering above him and settling between his spread legs. The Angel smirked and leaned down, nipping at Dean's mouth. "Hell yeah I do," he replied in his low, raspy growl, and Dean laughed and settled back for a little more pampering.

He could _definitely_ get used to this.


	8. Cheating

Cheating  
>DeanCastiel pre-slash  
>Spoilers for 6x05...?<br>PG-13  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>blood-drinking, vampire!Dean  
>"You can't drink human blood, Dean. One drop and it's over."<p>

* * *

><p>It's deafening.<p>

He's trying to ignore it – trying to think past the steady, rhythmic _thud-thud _of his heartbeat, trying to focus instead on his anger and confusion and fear, things that can sharpen the human mind and make him think properly, but it's deafening.

It's so fucking _loud._

_Thud-thud, thud-thud._

"You can't drink human blood, Dean. One drop and it's over."

He understands that. Every inhale he forces himself to drag in – because he still fucking needs to breathe, God-damnit – brings with it the heavy reminder that he _needs _to stay in control. When his teeth elongate and parts of his body he didn't know he had _throb _with the need to _drink, _he forces himself to remember.

He's always liked rhythm. He can't sing worth a damn but he appreciates a good drum beat, and the lovely three-beat turn of his baby's engine as she purrs and revs and roars for him, and the way that when the windows are down and you're going a steady 100mph the lamp posts that light the streets will fly by with a low hum, the Doppler effect at its finest.

Heartbeats are a lot like that.

_Thud. Fly. Thrum._

His hands are shaking when he raises them to his face, splashes his cheeks with water – a cold wetness that he doesn't quite feel so much as is aware of. He's detached from everything except that throbbing, deafening noise.

He can't take this – Sam's heartbeat – his too steady, infuriatingly calm heartbeat – is too strong. He has to run. He has to leave and go find somewhere soft and secluded and quiet.

The lights flare and blind him. Wind is too coarse on his face. Everything hurts – everything _stings. _He runs faster than cars and hears them thrum by like the lamp posts when he's driving and the smell burns – nauseating, almost. He's vomiting by the roadside before he's out of town.

He doesn't know what makes him think of it. Maybe it's because that everyone, at their lowest, resorts to prayer at some point. He heaves up the contents of his empty stomach, dry-sobbing around the smell of gasoline and wetted earth, and gasps out a single word; _Cas._

The Angel appears to him. He doesn't see him, but he can _smell _him. There's no heartbeat. It's quiet and soft and the sound of Castiel's wings cut through the air and seem to just silence everything else. Dean breathes out a shaky sigh, so fucking thankful that, for once, the righteous dick came first time.

"Dean." Castiel's voice is low and deep and has layers – Dean's never noticed before, and it rolls through his body like thunder. He raises his head, sees the blurry outline of Castiel's shoes that he's never changed, weirdo. "Dean!"

There's a warm hand on his shoulder, then, and Dean feels it in a way that is certainly _not _disconnected. It feels like an electric shock through his body – he chokes on it like he's sitting in the chair, feels new bile rising up, the evil in him revolting at something so pure as a resurrected Angel. He moans like a wounded animal, and Castiel's scent is suddenly surrounding him, rain mixed with grass and earth and _blood, _and it's so silent but the smell is no less potent, and then the idea comes to him again.

_He's not human, _Dean thinks, looking up at the man he'd called friend and comrade before the year-long radio silence. _He said so himself. His blood won't work…it won't…_

"Cas." His voice is raspy and it sounds like he hasn't spoken in days. It sounds like it did when he first woke up in his coffin. "I…" He reaches up, hand shaking again because he can't believe he's about to ask this, but Castiel _must _know. He always knows – it's like his thing. "Please."

He can't speak because every word demands a breath, and every breath brings the scent. He's going to jump Castiel soon if he's not careful and if this doesn't work – _can't _work – then he can't let himself injure his friend. Can't risk it to _himself. _He owes it to Lisa and Ben if nothing else. He has to get better.

Castiel _does _know. He's invisible but not gone, and he nods, blue eyes deep and unfathomably sad, and he leans down, grabbing at the back of Dean's head and pulling the shaking vampire to his knees, so that Dean's forehead is resting against the place his pulse would be, because no matter what, this has to be Dean's choice. "I understand," he says, and his voice vibrates against Dean's forehead. "Do it, Dean. Drink. Sate yourself."

The Hunter wants to fight, because this is wrong and he can't, but it's _not _and he _can. _He grabs hold of Castiel's shoulder, holds his friend steady against his body, and runs his nose along the Angel's neck, finding his blood where it's most potent, and he feels his fangs exploding through his gums before his teeth sink through Castiel's skin, easily finding and piercing the artery.

There's no heartbeat, so he has to suck it out, and it _burns _him. He can feel the purity and the Grace storming his body and trying to burn the evil disease out of him and it won't work, and Castiel tastes like wood spice and ocean spray, and Dean drinks. He drinks like it's the best fucking liquor in the world and he's been giving a free pass with no chance of a hangover in the morning. He drinks until his throat stops feeling like it's on fire, and his stomach feels heavy and warm with the blood, and his grip gets a little too tight as Castiel begins to slump. He can smell the weird proteins that is the blood being replaced, almost fast enough to replenish Castiel as he drinks, and it's kind of…kind of like letting a leash off, knowing that Dean can honestly keep drinking and _not hurt Castiel._

When he pulls away, he's breathing hard, and since he doesn't move away Castiel's blood runs down his shoulder, staining Dean's chin, neck, and face where the vampire nuzzles into the Angel like a contented kitten nursing from its mother. Castiel's hand is stroking through Dean's hair and, if the hunter didn't know better, he'd say he could feel Castiel's wings around his shoulders, heavy and warm.

That might just be the blood, though.

Dean takes a deep breath, tries to say how grateful he is to his friend, and how much he owes Castiel – because things have a certain amount of clarity when you're pulled back from the brink of homicide – and he doesn't want to let the Angel go. He doesn't want that promise of security and clear-thinking and bottomless satisfaction, to go.

But Castiel is an Angel, and he's done his job. Dean might feel the brush of lips against his forehead before Castiel disappears, forcing Dean to his hands and knees. The Hunter still has blood dripping from his mouth when he couldn't swallow it all, and he spits out the excess, swiping at what's staining his mouth.

When he goes back to the hotel, he washes up. Sam can't know – wouldn't understand that Castiel's _not human. _Dean cheated but he's okay with that. He tells Sam and Samuel that he hasn't killed anyone, and he's ready for his mission. And though Sam's expression is suspicious, his heartbeat is steady, and Dean thinks that must mean there's nothing to worry about.

_Thud-thud._


	9. Pretty Boy

Pretty Boy  
>DeanCastiel, Dean/OMC  
>PG-15<br>Spoilers: None.  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>character death, boytoy!Dean, slight Cas-OOCness (he's a possessive bastard), slutty!Dean  
>Castiel wants to be supportive. He just happens to feel justified in his little...reaction.<p>

* * *

><p>Castiel really wants to be supportive. Really, he does. After all, it's Dean's <em>job. <em>Well, not _this _per say, but it's what they do to get the job done. It's necessary, so Castiel tries to be supportive.

He just happens to feel justified in his teensy little overreaction.

Yes, smashing the TV in shock and making all the lights flare out, and then mojo-ing a blanket over his boyfriend is just a _small _overreaction.

It's not really his fault. He wasn't prepared for…

Well.

Let's just say…_mesh. _

And leather.

And a…suspiciously collar-like thing that did all _sorts _of mean things to Castiel's libido that the Angel still isn't quite used to.

He shudders and sips at his whiskey, letting the slow burn slide down his throat and he settles at the bar, watches Dean with no preamble, and Dean knows he's watching – flaunting the information, in fact. Castiel's heightened hearing can pick up anything and everything;

"You alone tonight, sweetheart?"

And really, it makes Castiel's gut churn in _more _ways that he's still not quite used to that Dean's so _good _at playing this part. It must mean he has a lot of practice, which doesn't sit well with the Angel in any way, shape or form.

A flash of a smile with dimples on the side, a casual lean to show off what he's offering – which is _glorious, _if Castiel has anything to say about it. He _built _that body from the atom up – no one else should be staring at it. A nod; "You offering to fix that?"

A predatory smile, and it makes Castiel's blood boil with possessiveness, because Dean belongs to _him, _damn it, and the human looks so freaking _pretty, _all made up like he's a fucking streetwalker or porn star from a twink show, and it makes Castiel's very Grace shudder with desire and he can smell the intent on this other man – this creature that they're hunting.

He knows he's agreed to be supportive, but _still. _Dean's getting way too into his role here.

The nameless guy leans forward, frames Dean's body against the bar with his arms, and Dean sighs a little, slouching back so there's room for the guy's mouth against his neck, his eyes falling half-lidded as he allows the Incubus to inhale his scent and learn it, because Sam's out back with a machete and the vampire-demon's not going to last past midnight if everything goes according to plan.

That is, if Castiel can get over his possessive jealousy and _not _interrupt.

Then again, they've also come up with a plan B should the Angel's infinite patience run out.

Castiel can hear the bastard _purr _at Dean's scent – _Yeah, it is good, isn't it? _he thinks with venom in his thoughts; _He's _mine, _asshole. Back off _– and watches with eyes like lasers when his nails dig into the wood of the bar, too strong to be a normal man, and he presses up _against _Dean like he _owns _him, and Castiel growls, under his breath, too softly for the waitress who passes by him to hear. He orders another drink – a double, this time – and settles down to keep waiting and watching, to wait for the caution signal that means it's going badly.

"You're too pretty to be left here all on your own," The Incubus says, purring the words like his voice is pure sex, and though Dean's smiling along and acting like a submissive little boy-toy Castiel can read the set of his shoulders, knows how tense Dean actually is and how much he'd rather be anywhere else, and that thought sends a little bit of satisfaction through Castiel – lets him relax, if only slightly. "You need someone to take care of you, I'll bet."

_Creepy, _Castiel thinks, shuddering for Dean's sake because the poor guy's not allowed the luxury, and Dean smiles, turning his face so he's looking the Incubus right in his dark brown eyes, giving him a little 'come hither' smile that would put the best prostitute to shame, and Dean doesn't reply – he just runs the tip of his fingers down the guy's chest, splaying them as they reach his tented jeans, and the Incubus shudders gently when Dean stops and _squeezes._

Castiel's got to admit, Dean's got the talent for it.

And it's thoughts like _that _that make him want to just kill the son of a bitch.

The Incubus growls and grabs at Dean's chin and kisses him – a forceful, dominating thing that has Dean opening up under him with a low moan-whimper-_gasp, _as the Incubus grinds up against Dean in ways that should be illegal, and the scent of pheromones is so strong that it stings at Castiel's nose, even as far away as he is at the opposite end of the crowded room. The Angel slams his drink back because he can't take much more of this – wants Sam to just run in like a cross between the Hulk and Tarzan (the only two movies he has yet to watch in his human life that didn't involve porn) and just chop the guy to pieces. He really wants to be able to just smite him.

Dean mewls for the damned thing, wrapping his arms around the guy's shoulders and then begins to move, and Castiel breathes out a sigh of relief as Dean gives him the signal for 'Okay', and Castiel feels a little knot he didn't know was there loosen, relieved that Dean hasn't fallen under the creature's influence. Or at least not enough that he's forgotten the plan.

Dean lures the creature forward with his body, painted in the black leather pants and the shirt that is at least two sizes too small, and the thing hooks his finger in Dean's choker collar that sits nicely over the hollow of his throat and _pulls _at it, cutting off Dean's air for a moment and before Castiel can do anything about _that _– like punch his lights out – they're out the door into the alleyway behind it.

There's silence and nothingness for a few moments, then blood. Lots and lots of blood, and the air reeks of it. The deed is done, and Castiel zaps outside to find Dean breathing hard, leaning against a wall and looking like he wants to puke.

He's trying, in fact – sticking his finger down his throat to try and vomit up the venom, but he can't quite manage it, and Castiel rubs his back as Sam finishes turning the Incubus into mincemeat, and finally Dean turns around and meets his eyes.

"Next time," he rasps, "Sam's totally the bait."

Castiel blinks, then smiles, and nods, because he was trying to be supportive, but he was never totally down with this plan.

At all.


	10. The Power Of That Egyptian River

Title: The Power of that Egyptian River  
>Author: HigherMagic<br>Pairings: None, really. Sort of Dean/Ghost. A little. Almost. Dean/OMC.  
>Rating: PG-16<br>Word Count: ~3,200  
>Spoilers: None.<br>**Summary:** Apparently it takes a homicidal ghost to realize that, yeah, maybe Dean might swing both ways.  
><strong>Warnings: <strong>Has mentions of graphic deaths and homophobia, but not in very much gravity. Actually, kind of cracky and insensitive…I don't know. I'm sorry if it offends but that was not the intention.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>So this idea hit me way back – it was a dream of mine, and it's taken me freaking long enough to write it, but I got there eventually because I'm determined to go through my 'Unfinished fic' folder and, well, finish them. Um…I think I was high for writing half of this, so I'm sorry. Enjoy! :D

* * *

><p>Sam maintains that Dean totally had it coming.<p>

Anyone with half a brain could see that his brother was pretty, and anyone with a quarter of a brain knew that Dean liked to look back when the men checked him out – it helped sometimes when they were hustling pool and he could stake out a mark that might be willing to pay a little less attention to the fact that he wasn't getting nearly as drunk as he pretended to be, instead focusing on the way his lips wrapped around the beer bottle, and the bob of his Adam's apple when he 'swallowed'.

Dean knew what he had and he liked to flaunt it to get his way. And yet he still maintained that he was 100%, absolutely straight.

Sam knew one day it would come back to bite him in the ass.

* * *

><p>It was a hunt like many other hunts they'd gone on – a routine haunting in a high school. Three members of the football team had turned up suspended from the locker room ceilings with their windpipes crushed and their 'junk' either slashed at or removed entirely. They'd died from a mix of suffocation and bleeding out. All three murders had occurred in the last two weeks.<p>

Dean had taken down a lot of ghosts but this one was just downright _creepy. _"Who cuts off a guy's junk?" he growled, checking his sawed-off for salt rounds and then frowning over at his little brother. "Got anything on who our Casper might be?"

"None yet," Sam muttered, rubbing a hand over his mouth as he closed his laptop. "There've been no deaths, suicides or anything even remotely linked to a haunting associated with the school." He sighed, standing up. "So what're our disguises this time?"

"Too soon for feds?"

"I don't think a school would want the feds poking around. And there've been a few resignations since the murders began. I think we could find an opening as teachers or at least subs." At Dean lecherous grin Sam pulled 'Bitchface Number Eight – Dean's thinking something really inappropriate and I can't decide whether to scold him or ignore him'. One of Dean's personal favorites because it made Sam look like a fish that ate a lemon. "Come on, Dean, get your head out of Penthouse Forum."

"If it ain't broke, Sammy," Dean replied, tucking his Glock into the side of his jeans in the waistband, making sure his leather jacket fell forward enough to cover it when he pulled that on as well. "Alright, let's get this show on the road before another guy gets castrated."

* * *

><p>Sam ended up getting hired as the new Religious Education teacher – a fact that cracked Dean up to no end – while Dean was hired as a janitor. The janitors were usually the first ones to find the dead guys, and a lot of them had quit after finding a body, so there were several positions open and a lot of scared old men eager to warn the 'new guy' about the dangers of the locker room. They proved to be quite informative with a bit of beer and a cigar during their breaks.<p>

"Have you ever seen it?" Dean asked, playing the part of a freaked, curious young soul perfectly, leaning forward as an old, pudgy man bent forward, blowing smoke out of the side of his mouth as he answered Dean in a conspiratorial whisper;

"Never seem 'em – didn't get there in time, but could hear 'em talkin'. Like those poor boys…screaming themselves hoarse and…well, you know the rest." He sat back, taking another puff of his cigar.

A swallow, and Dean put a shake to his voice when he asked, "What did they say? Could you tell?" The big guy smirked.

"Getting what's coming to them. Mostly just sounded like…well, you know teenagers enjoying themselves, until the screaming started."

Another janitor clapped his hand down hard on Dean's shoulder, startling the Hunter despite himself, and he heard a low growl by his ear; "You better watch yourself, kid. You wouldn't be the first pretty boy to go missing from this campus. Stay away from the locker rooms if you know what's good for ya."

* * *

><p>"Find anything?" Dean asked after Sam had done the 'I'm staying late to mark papers but then I'm going to go snoop about the locker rooms' gig. Sam sighed, shrugging off his suit jacket and tie and grabbing the chicken Caesar salad Dean had grabbed him from the local diner.<p>

He shook his head as he began to eat. "Yeah, EMF went nuts as soon as I went in to the locker rooms. The place had been wiped clean of blood and stuff, but the place where they found the bodies hanging had the one of the highest readings I've ever seen. We could be looking at more than one ghost, here."

"Fantastic," Dean muttered, flipping the pages on a skin mag.

"Yeah. What about you?"

Dean shrugged. "Same old – the other janitors are total perverts and a little on the creepy side, but I don't think they're involved. They sure did hear some things, though." He smirked. "Sounds like until the castration started our victims were enjoying themselves…a lot."

'Bitchface Number Eight' appeared again. "So…what? A ghost that lures young guys in, has her way with them and then cuts off their genitals?"

Dean wrinkled his nose. "Don't say genitals. It sounds dirty, and not in a good way."

"Grow up, Dean."

"Make me, bitch."

"_Anyway," _Sam said, taking another bite of his salad, brow furrowed in thought as he tried to find a connection, "if that's the case, then there must be something tying her to the locker rooms. Maybe a hook-up gone wrong?"

"Wrong enough to kill her?" Dean asked, skeptical.

"You got another theory, Dean?"

"Alright, alright, fine. We'll go to the station tomorrow and see what we can scope out – maybe a girl died there, or something, and it's not in the public records. Now chew with your mouth closed; I'm going to sleep."

* * *

><p>"Geoffrey Tillett, sophomore in the high school, died recently and found in a dumpster. No one knows who did it or how he got there, but the guy was pretty messed up when they found him," Dean announced, slapping the folder back down on the motel table as he'd just gotten back from the station. He'd gone early, unable to sleep and lucked out. "Kid was basically beaten to death and, get this," he leaned forward, smiling in a way that was half-grim, half-triumphant, like he was proud of himself for finding this out. "Apparently he was found junkless."<p>

Sam pulled a face, and picked up the file. There was a picture of the teenager, facing a camera, looking very sullen, and then various pictures from the crime scene. "That could definitely give us a ghost and M.O., but why would he be lurking around the locker rooms?"

Dean shrugged. "I haven't gotten that far," he confessed. "But the guy's a…well, a guy. I figure maybe this was a hate crime that someone feels a little upset about."

"Alright," Sam replied, shutting the folder and standing up. "I guess we need to go talk to the parents."

* * *

><p>"Geoffrey was always such a nice boy," the mother said, tearing up a little and Sam obligingly handed her a tissue, doing his job of comforting the grieving family while Dean snooped around the boy's room and the rest of the house. "I don't understand why those boys wanted to hurt him so much."<p>

"So your son had enemies?" Sam pressed gently, keeping his voice soft and his puppy dog face officially _on_.

The woman nodded, swallowing again, her eyes red and welling up. "Yes. They didn't like that he was…well, you know…" She trailed off, and Sam cocked his head to one side. "Homosexual."

"They were homophobes," Sam said, face smoothing out in understanding as his and Dean's theory was confirmed. The woman just nodded and seemed dangerously close to bursting into tears again. "Thank you, Mrs Tillett, really, for your time. I know this must be very hard for you. We'll try and sort out who killed him as soon as possible." He stood up, making to leave.

The woman nodded. "Of course, officer, thank you," she said, wiping her eyes and standing to see him out the door, as Dean came down the stairs, his face telling Sam that he had definitely found something. "Please, let me know if you find anything out."

"Of course."

* * *

><p>"Did you find anything?"<p>

Dean snorted, giving Sam a 'Well, it _is _me' kind of look, and the younger Winchester rolled his eyes. "Yes, as a matter of fact," Dean replied, heading towards the Impala and opening the driver side door, sliding inside while Sam mimicked him on the other side. "Turns out that Geoff had quite the crush on the Captain of the football team. Found loads of pictures of him and stuff like that on the inside of the kid's closet."

Sam paused for a moment. "How does this help us?"

"Well," Dean shrugged, "all the murders were committed in the Locker Rooms. If the boys got freaky or anything, there would be DNA in there." Sam wrinkled his nose and pulled 'Bitchface Number Nine – I know Dean has a point but I still disapprove of the lecherous way he's saying it'.

…What? Dean knows words like _lecherous_.

"Well that's not something we can exactly get rid of, you know," Sam grumped after another moment. "Maybe we should talk to the crush."

Dean nodded and smiled. "Way ahead of you, Sammy."

* * *

><p>They made it back to the high school in time for last classes to get out, but after every day there was football practice, so Sam and Dean resolved to play the parts of their respective jobs and loiter around until they could find the kid after practice and question him. Sam was in his classroom grading papers (and some of these kids had very interesting theories on Christian beliefs in ghosts and Purgatory), while Dean was sent over to clear the Locker Rooms.<p>

Apparently this was the equivalent of starting at the bottom of the ladder. The Locker Rooms were disgusting, to put it plainly. Dean gagged just entering the place – it smelled of sweat and stale urine, of all things, and Dean never remembered high school smelling this bad. He wrinkled his nose and swallowed, trying to get a hold of himself, and went to pretending to work.

There's something special about the monotony of dipping a mop, wetting it, swiping back and forth, and repeat. Even for Dean, it was easy to get lost in the motions that he didn't even realize someone else was in the room until he heard the sound of a locker closing.

He froze, immediately on high alert, and cursed his own mind for wandering and getting him into trouble. Should have been more aware. And he didn't even have his gun or salt rounds or anything.

…In his defense, he was pretty sure the ghost wouldn't show up until after hours, and he didn't exactly fit the victim profile.

Or so he thought.

He exhaled, and his breath misted in front of him, and the air got very, very cold. Dean carefully leaned his mop against the side of a group of lockers and backed himself towards the door, hoping that maybe the ghost's influence didn't extend past the room. It's not like they were known for wandering.

Another locker door slammed shut right next to Dean and he jumped away from it, keeping his eyes always moving so that he could almost see everything at once. "Come on, Geoffrey," he said after a moment, swallowing and forcing himself to smile, "I know who you are. Show yourself."

There was the sound of someone exhaling, or maybe sighing, and Dean whirled around to see a pale teenage boy looking back at him. Geoffrey…didn't look like he was dead, but Dean was certain that that was the boy from the file. Maybe a little younger. But he looked healthy – he looked _alive_. Dean didn't understand, but it's not like it mattered.

The boy stared at him flatly, as though waiting for Dean to make the first move. "Um…hey," he said, because honestly he hadn't actually expected the ghost to appear. Usually they were much less cooperative.

Geoffrey's ghost cocked his head to one side, and then slowly the left side of his mouth began to quirk up. "Hey yourself," he muttered in reply, his voice getting a little echo to it a split second after he spoke. He really had been quite a good looking kid before his death – he had short brown hair, in a kind of Sam Worthington impersonation, and had dark blue eyes. He was lean, built like a runner, and almost as tall as Dean was despite his youth. He was attractive.

If Dean swung that way.

Which, you know, he totally didn't.

"So…" Dean slowly lowered his gun, straightening since it seemed like Geoffrey wasn't being overly hostile. "Why you been killing people, Geoffrey?"

A shadow passed over the boy's eyes and he clenched his fists. The lights overhead flickered and Dean's eyes flashed up to them briefly, warily. The temperature dropped another couple degrees. "They were liars," he muttered, getting more agitated by the minute. "Lying _hypocrites."_

"Why were they hypocrites?" Dean asked, trying to make an edge for the door, but suddenly Geoffrey was there, blocking his exit. Dean was too nervous to take his eyes anywhere from the teenage ghost.

"Did you ever go to high school?" the kid asked instead of answering.

"Plenty," came Dean's honest reply.

"It's hell," the ghost said flatly, which Dean kind of had to snort at because _hello,_ he'd been to Hell. High school's nothing. "It's awful, even for those people who fit in. You be even a fraction different from the 'norm' and you're tortured for four years of your life. Even beyond that. And kids…kids are mean." He crossed his arms over his chest. "They deserved punishment."

"Are those guys the ones who killed you, Geoffrey?" Dean asked, stalling, making a move to back away again because the kid was starting to advance on him. Outside the football practice was going on in full swing and Dean was starting to think that maybe the kid wouldn't just disappear once they weren't alone. Like maybe he didn't care that much if there were witnesses or not. "Is this about revenge?"

The boy snorted. "No." He took another step towards Dean. "Liars and hypocrites should be punished."

"Look, man, I'm sympathetic, really – I know what it's like to go through Hell, but you gotta help me out. What are they lying about?"

Geoffrey's face twisted into an expression of disgust and pure loathing. "You know, you're just like them," he growled, and Dean made a frustrated noise because _honestly,_ how hard is it to get a freaking straight answer? He backed away again and his back hit the cold metal of the lockers, and he cursed himself for backing himself into a corner. "King of the world, hiding everything dark about you in some sad, pathetic little corner hoping that no one will ever see." Dean swallowed, because he'd seen the Witnesses, alright, and the idea of a mad teenage ghost ripping out his heart or something wasn't his idea of a good time and Geoffrey was now close enough to do that. "Well I'm sick of seeing sick bastards like you throwing stones out of your glass houses. It's time you felt my pain."

Geoffrey reached forward and cupped the side of Dean's face with his hand, and Dean once again cursed the lack of iron or salt anywhere around him. Stupid freaking aluminum locker doors.

Getting touched by a ghost was…weird. It's cold – very, very cold, but corporeal. Dean could actually feel Geoffrey touch him like he was a real person, just maybe frozen up a little. The boy leaned closer, his lips inches from Dean's, and before Dean could shrink back any further (which he kind of couldn't because of the whole _backed against a locker_ thing), a sudden stirring of warmth started in his gut. He sucked in a breath, his eyes widening at the weird effect.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded, trying to keep his voice strong when really, his knees felt a little weak. There were shivers running up and down his spine. The otherworldliness of Geoffrey was getting to him, maybe, or maybe this was just an oversurge of adrenaline.

The ghost's eyes flashed. "Showing you what you're hiding," he growled, his hand tightening around Dean's chin, and the Hunter tried to look anywhere for something to use as a weapon. His eyes landed on the boy's wrists for a moment and his eyes widened.

-and then a shot went off, and the ghost disappeared, and a salt round embedded itself in the wall right next to Dean's head. He gasped, flinching to one side, and looked around with wide eyes to see Sam standing by the door, sawed-off in hand, with a mix of barely contained amusement and concern on his face. It was quite a comical effect.

Then Sam cocked his head to one side and amusement won. "Dude, don't shoot next to my head!" Dean said, straightening up and trying to cover up his shaken state with bluster.

Sam just smirked. "Well, I guess I figured out the type he goes for," he said.

"Shut up, bitch. Listen, I think I know why Geoffrey's tied to this place, and he's definitely the ghost. Let's get our salt-and-burn on."

* * *

><p>"So it turns out he was after closeted members of the football team?" Sam asked incredulously.<p>

Dean nodded. "Or anyone with latent homosexual desires."

The car was silent for almost three minutes before Dean realized what he'd said. He blushed a little. "Not that I…I mean I don't…"

Sam rolled his eyes and burst out laughing. "Yeah, okay, Dean."

"No, seriously, Sam! He did this whole weird, like, effect when he touched me. Ghost mojo made me gay." Dean shivered just thinking about it, feeling the residual…effect on his body. Sam just cracked up again at the idea that Dean was blaming _ghost mojo_ for almost making out with Geoffrey.

This was possibly the weirdest case _ever_.

They found the body with little trouble – the town only had one graveyard and it wasn't that big, and then they salted and burned Geoffrey's body. They hung around town for a few days but there were no more murders, so the brothers deemed the case solved and moved on.

And for the record, Dean made a bet with Sam that it was _completely _the ghost mojo that had made him want guys.

Dean lost.


	11. Bonnie & Clyde

**Title: **Bonnie & Clyde

**Author:** HigherMagic

**Rated:** NC-17

**Pairing:** Dean/Castiel, Dean/OFC

**Warnings: ** Language, Smex, Psychopath!Murderer!Dean and Castiel who vibes on that. Contains descriptions of and deals with non-con and character death, but of an OFC, off-screen.

So you know that movie 'Sorority Row'? Well, the final death scene just got my muse going frantic inside her glass cage. (Yeah, I keep her in a cage. She'll trash the place otherwise .) And basically, this is what came out in my head. Enjoy!

Unbeta'd. All mistakes are mine. If only the boys were too xD

* * *

><p>Dean and Castiel are not normal people, but they're okay with that. Castiel knows that regular people go to work and have jobs. They don't move from place to place because they're wanted in thirty-three states for first degree murder and if they stay in one place the cops'll catch up with them and they'll get caught. Castiel knows that people keep their names and don't keep making up aliases and changing out the licence plates, and the cars they put them on.<p>

He knows that regular people don't go out and kill people for a relaxing time. He knows murder is a sin and it's disgusting and horrifying...to other people.

Try telling that to him, though.

It's not fault, really. Red is Dean's colour. He loves the look of it, the smell, and _God, _the _taste..._It just suits Dean. Makes him raw, like an animal.

Castiel's head snaps up when Dean comes back into the motel room, and he licks his lips in anticipation, standing up to greet his lover and partner. Castiel's the brains of the operation – he picks the perfect towns and the perfect victims – but Dean is the master who wields the knife.

On the outside, he's clean. Castiel knows this because Dean's smart about it. The leather jacket he wears is spotless – because it's a fucking gorgeous piece of clothing and who wants to ruin it with blood? Castiel steps forward slowly as Dean sheds the jacket, and his equally clean over-shirt. The blood has started to seep through his green t-shirt. There are stains on his chest.

"Describe her to me," Castiel says, threading his hands under Dean's shirt and dragging his fingers up, curling them so the nails catch on Dean's skin, digging in hard enough to break it, to mix both his and the victim's blood together. Dean shudders, eyes falling closed, and he lifts his arms for Castiel to pull the shirt over his head and bare his blood-stained torso.

It's always like this. Castiel doesn't watch because he'd rather hear it from Dean's point of view, with that smoky voice in his ear describing all the dirty, horrible things he's just done to a human being.

"She was a screamer," Dean says, a smile curving his full lips upwards, and when Castiel bites at them, pulling his bottom lip towards him, he can see flecks of blood on the inside of Dean's teeth. He smiles and moves down, his hands still shamelessly exploring his lover's body, spreading fresh blood from Dean's chest around the perfect, golden skin. Dean's hands come up to either side of Castiel's head, dragging nails across his scalp and Castiel purrs for him.

He dips lower, tracing the line of a scar along Dean's chest with his finger, coating it with blood, and then licks the skin clean. "More," he demands, his voice low and rough, flashing dark blue eyes up at Dean, already dilated from lust. The younger man shivers slightly.

"She was pretty. Beautiful, even." Castiel makes a non-committal noise, repeating the process on each of Dean's other scars. "She had the most gorgeous blonde hair, Cas – fucking thick, perfect for pulling at while I dragged the knife across her throat." He mimes out his words, knotting his hand in Castiel's hair and jerking his head back, and the forefinger of his other hand plays the part of the knife, as Dean lays it across his pulse point and dips it into the hollow at the base of his throat. When Castiel whimpers, Dean meets his eyes, his smile wide enough to show teeth now. "She went real quiet after that."

Castiel mewls, swallowing hard enough that his Adam's apple bobs against Dean's finger, and the younger man digs in a little more harshly, forcing Castiel to his knees from that point of pressure alone. "I had her like this," he says, gentling his hand in Castiel's hair as he looks down at Cas. His jeans are stained along the waist as well where the blood spatter had run down his chest, and Castiel traces the lines with his fingers and tongue. "She mewled so prettily for me, Cas. Thought I would let her go if she played along."

Both men chuckle, enthralled by that weird act of human behaviour; that stupid, innocent view that if you do what someone wants, they will be nice to you. It doesn't work that way. Castiel leans up and mouths at Dean's erection through his blood-stained jeans, moaning even louder than Dean when he licks at it, tasting blood and sweat and denim.

"Should have seen it, Cas," Dean growls, throwing his head back and letting his shoulders fall so he's resting against the wall, lazily watching as Castiel goes to town on him through his pants, warm breath soaking through the fabric of his jeans. "That light in her eyes. She had beautiful blue eyes, just like yours but not as wide…" He's petting Castiel like a Goddamn dog and Castiel's just eating it up, finally scrabbling at Dean's jeans and practically tearing them off his body along with his underwear, baring his skin for Castiel to taste. "And then when that light went out…"

He can remember her – a beautiful young blonde, barely legal. Smiling, flirty, easy. "What drug did you use?" Castiel asks, grinning widely as he stands up finally, palming Dean's cock and pulling at the back of the younger man's neck, and guiding him back towards the bed.

Dean laughs. "That's all lust and trust, baby," he replies, dipping one of his fingers into the freshest bloodstain and tracing the edge of Castiel's lips, pushing softly into his lover's eager mouth as Castiel sucks him down, moaning as they fall back onto the bed.

"Fuck. _Fuck, _baby," Dean growls, replacing his finger with his mouth and his tongue, forcibly opening Castiel's mouth – not that he'd have met any resistance. Castiel clutches desperately at Dean, grinding up against his lover as Dean's thigh situates itself oh-so-perfectly between his legs. The older man moans lightly at the taste of blood in his lover's mouth, spreading his legs a little more widely so that Dean can fall between them.

Dean chuckles, biting down at Castiel's neck, but he doesn't break skin. He can't. He won't. Because once Dean gets started, and once he tastes the blood of a human being in the air, he can't stop. It's like he's a shark at feeding time and he won't stop until the corpse is bled dry, until he's tasted their fear and drank it down, until their screams fall silent. He can't do that with Castiel.

"_Please, _Dean, _please," _Castiel growls, knotting his fingers in Dean's too-short hair and whining in frustration when the maddening friction of Dean's hips against his disappears, and the threatening teeth at his neck go too. "Come _on._"

"Relax, baby," Dean purrs, licking at Castiel's pulse where a gorgeous purple-red mark has grown and flourished under his teeth and tongue. He nuzzles into it, can _smell _the blood, but holds himself back. "I wanna play for real tonight."

Castiel gasps, his eyes going wide with excitement. "Really?"

Dean nods, and then stands up. His erection is flushed, curling up towards his belly as he clambers off the bed and goes to his leather jacket, searching through the pockets. Castiel uses the opportunity to get himself naked, throwing his clothes haphazardly around the room – he doesn't care where they land, so long as they are _off. _

When Dean comes back, he's holding a hunting knife. The handle is made of polished, smoothed deer horn and the blade is slightly, wickedly, curved, serrated on one edge by Dean's own design. Castiel's breath catches, seeing the glorious instrument held in such capable hands, and he lies back submissively, letting Dean kneel up over him, completely trusting Dean because Dean doesn't cut what he doesn't intend to. He is a master behind the knife.

Dean smiles and leans down, the tip of the knife resting on the corner of Castiel's eye. "You have such pretty eyes," he purrs, smiling, showing reddened teeth as he hovers above Castiel, their lips just inches apart. Castiel has to bite his lip to keep in control of himself, to not surge up and claim Dean in a kiss that would probably end with him losing his eye, and then his life. "They're so _blue. _It's one of the first things I noticed about you." Castiel swallows, blinking and he can feel the edge of his eyelid touch the warm metal of the knife.

"Then…your lips." The tip drags down Castiel's cheek, resting along the bow of his upper lip. Dean turns the knife just a little, pressing just a little more insistently and Castiel's breath hitches, knowing how sharp that knife is, knowing that with just one slip-up, Dean could cut him, and then it would all be over. His heart is jackknifing in his chest and he's never been more turned on in his life. "Could kiss those lips all day. And they look so fucking perfect wrapped around my cock…" Dean groans, eyes going glazed in a memory (or many memories, they've certainly made enough).

Castiel swallows again. He loves it when Dean's like this. All that power and danger so close to the surface, so carefully bound back and reined in. He knows how close Dean could come to just killing him, one wrong move and he's gone and he _loves _it.

Dean flicks the knife away, his smile growing, and Castiel swears he can hear it whistle in the air. "I cut her here first," Dean whispers, leaning down so that he can rasp the words in Castiel's ear, like he's imparting the secrets of the universe to Cas. He rests the 'blunt' edge of the blade against Castiel's collarbone. "Right above the bone, so that it'll hurt more than bleed. I took my time with her." Castiel's entire body shudders as Dean's warm palm closes around the cold blade, gripping it hard enough to slice his own palm open, and then he holds it above Castiel's mouth, and Castiel's eyes zero in on that cut, dripping blood onto his mouth and chin, but he doesn't dare taste yet – this is Dean's game.

The man's eyes are almost completely black as he watches his lover, and then smiles, pressing a kiss to the corner of Castiel's mouth. "Drink, baby. Suck me down like I know you're so desperate to."

Castiel grabs onto Dean's wrist, jerking his hand down and licks at the cut, mewling at the taste of rust and iron, and seals his lips over the cut, sucking like a Goddamn animal at the teat of its mother, and Dean's body trembles, watching as blood flows out faster than Castiel can handle, dribbles around his chin and lips. He leans in, licking at the excess.

"She didn't react this way," Dean whispers into his own wrist, then licking at Castiel's jaw. Castiel's hands tighten around Dean's arm as though afraid that he'll take the source away. Dean smirks. "She was crying and shaking her head, refusing to taste me, like it was horrifying." Castiel snorts, his eyes narrowed in disgust that someone could ever think _Dean _horrifying. Dean moves so he's not leaning on his arm anymore, instead plastered to Castiel's side, and his free hand reaches down underneath Castiel, hooking blunt fingertips at the other man's hole but not pressing in. Castiel jerks in surprise, then whines, breathing hard through his nose. "Well, her loss," Dean growls into his ear; "More for you."

Castiel whines when Dean takes his arm away, eyes wide and desperate, blood smeared around his mouth. Dean quickly shushes him, petting his cheek like an animal and turning his head to face Dean. "Shh, baby, you'll get more once you earn it," Dean purrs, smiling against Castiel's mouth before kissing him, tasting his own blood. Castiel whimpers, hesitant as though reluctant to share any part of Dean, even with the man himself, and Dean almost laughs at his lover's wanton, possessive behaviour. "Come on, baby, earn your keep," the younger man demands.

Castiel nods emphatically, sitting up and rolling over Dean, on all fours above his lover. He grinds down against Dean, earning a moan from him and smiles in satisfaction, licking his lips. "How did you fuck her?" Castiel demands, looking down at Dean for a long moment – usually Dean fucks the victims that are female. Castiel doesn't mind – it's not like the whores will get pregnant or anything (they don't have time to), and he's the one Dean always comes home to.

Dean bites his lip, looking up at Castiel through lust-hooded eyes. "Missionary."

Castiel smiles, knowing Dean's affinity for the position – it keeps him up close and personal with his victims, makes them unable to look anywhere, to go to their happy places and pretend that it isn't happening. It forces eye contact and lets him see when the light goes out of their eyes, when they finally realize that they're not getting out of there alive.

He looks down at Dean's chest, smiling at the bloodstains and looks down, licking at them lightly, cleaning away Dean's skin, and the younger man lets out a contented little rumble. "I wanna ride you, Dean," he says, counting Dean's ribs with his tongue and licking at the shallow furrows that his own nails had left behind, lapping at the fresh blood seeping out of the scabbed-over wounds. His eyes flash up from where he is, sliding his ass back so he's resting more on Dean's legs than his hips, unable to bend quite that far.

"Then what are you waiting for?"

When Castiel makes to turn Dean over, intending to fuck the younger man into oblivion, he finds a knife right by his throat, Dean's dark eyes staring up at him, until he smirks. "Nuh uh. _You're _bottoming today, baby," he growls – a low, throaty sound that does _all sorts _of unfair things to Castiel's libido, and the blue-eyed man whines, nodding as he crawls back up Dean's body, angling himself so the blunt head of Dean's cock rests against his ass. Dean seems to realize the problem at the same time Cas does.

"Lube?"

"Over there." A head jerk towards the table in the motel room, a million miles away. "Wanna take it dry?"

"Can't. I'll bleed."

Dean nods, biting his lip, then smiles. "Guess we're doing this old-school," he says, and then lifts his cut hand again, reopening the wound with a savage slice to his palm – it's okay for Dean to shed his own blood because he's not going to bleed _himself _dry – and then he grips his cock, slicking himself up as much as he can be bothered with before he turns his fingers to Castiel's hole.

He pushes in with one finger without pausing. Castiel whimpers, clenching to try and keep him out, hips rising unintentionally to fight out the weird invading force – it's a habit he just can't quit no matter how many times he bottoms for Dean – but Dean's knife stops him, resting once again by his neck and stopping him moving anywhere. Dean smiles when Castiel's wide eyes meet his.

"Better enjoy this 'cause it's all you're getting," Dean murmurs, twisting his finger and jabbing savagely at Castiel's prostate. The older man groans, planting his closed fists on Dean's chest, head bowed but wary of the knife. He can feel Dean's blood running down his wrist, slicking up his hole and between his legs, and the knowledge that Dean's going to be fucking into his own blood sends a dirty little thrill through Castiel.

He gasps when Dean does it again, jaw clenched, eyes screwed tightly shut as his entire body tenses, fighting back the urge to make this end before they even get started. "Come on, Dean, _please. _Want you _now._"

Dean laughs, pulling his fingers out and landing a hand smack to Castiel's ass, making the older man hiss and jerk in surprise at the unexpected contact. "Get on with it, then," Dean demands, smirking when Castiel just bites his lip and kneels up, reaching behind himself to find Dean's hard cock and hold it upright, sinking down onto the hard length in one slow descent. Neither of them have the patience to take things slow – the only reason they bother with prep at all is because chafing's a bitch and the last time Castiel shed his blood around Dean, he almost got killed.

"Fuck," Dean growls, grabbing onto Castiel's hips without letting go of his knife, the cold metal braced and pressing against Castiel's skin, and when Dean holds Castiel still and thrusts up, bucking up so he goes deeper into him, Castiel whines in surprise and fear as the 'blunt' edge of the blade skates along his skin. Dean smiles at the fear in Castiel's eyes, reaching up and brushing a hand through Castiel's hair. "Relax, baby, I'm not gonna hurt you."

Castiel swallows, his eyes focused warily on the blade, but he rocks his hips obediently, letting Dean set the pace, and once he's figured it out he takes control of it, bracing himself on Dean's chest, thighs straining as he rides Dean hard, gasping and slicked with sweat. It makes his skin slippery and the knife rocks around against his hip and side, and it feels like he's about to get stabbed with it. He would ask Dean to move the knife, but Castiel doesn't ask Dean to do anything. It's not his place.

Dean smiles, watching him, his eyes lust-dark, cheeks and neck flushed from arousal. "Fuck," he grits out through clenched teeth, "s'been a while since you did this. You're so fucking tight, baby." Castiel preens at the compliment, leaning down and biting into Dean's mouth, tongue-fucking him in a counter-rhythm to their hips, and Dean hisses, digging his nails more severely into Castiel's skin.

"You like that?" Castiel asks, hooded eyes dark as he watches Dean, watches as the younger man bites his full bottom lip, making it so red and swollen, and his hair gets plastered to his face. Castiel brushes Dean's hair back from his face, smiling down at him. "Like fucking into your own blood, huh? Am I tight enough for you? Can get even tighter if you want it." He clenches to demonstrate, and Dean growls, throwing his head back. Castiel uses the opportunity to lave bites onto his unmarred golden skin.

"Fuck, keep that up and it'll be over way too soon," Dean warns softly, but in the voice that tells Castiel he wouldn't mind that one bit. Castiel doesn't blame him – it's almost three in the morning and Dean does 'normal' things during the day. He must be exhausted.

Castiel's hand turns harsh, jerking Dean's head back and biting down at Dean's pulse, hard enough to break skin. "Come inside me, Dean. Right the fuck now. Wanna feel your blood and your come deep inside me. Wanna feel it leaking out for _days_." His other hand moves to his own cock, stripping it fiercely to try and reach that point at the same time as Dean. He almost never manages it – needs Dean's blood in his mouth to come properly and quickly – but he cares more about Dean getting pleasure anyway. After all, Dean does this for Castiel. "Want you to fill me up and put me away, used and dirty. Come on."

_Fuck, _but Cas has a mouth on him. Dean groans low in his throat, head thrown back against the pillows, eyes locked with Castiel as the older man clenches tightly, biting once again into Dean's mouth, his calves gripping Dean's hips desperately as he fucks himself on Dean's cock, and the younger man moans into that kiss, eyes falling closed and hands gripping tighter than ever, and he jerks up, hips flush with Castiel's ass, and cries out as he comes, filling Castiel up. The older man sighs, his hand moving quickly over his own erection until he's coming all over his hand and Dean's chest, melting into the younger man's body as he continues to kiss him, lazy now from the frenzy of their sex.

Once Dean softens inside of him, spent, Castiel purrs, tilting his head so he's nuzzling into the dip between Dean's cheek and his nose. "That was fan_tas_tic," he says softly, smiling when Dean smirks, and his bloody, knife-wielding hand comes up to stroke through the sweaty hair above Cas' ear.

"Glad I could serve."

"Mmm…" Castiel kneels up, letting Dean slide out of him, before he collapses at Dean's side. There's silence for a long moment before Dean asks;

"Where's our next stop?"

Castiel pauses, thinking for a second, and then smiles. "D.C.," he says, closing his eyes again as he snuggles into Dean. The younger man turns, wrapping his arms around Castiel, who shivers at the feeling of the flat of Dean's blade resting against the small of his back. Dean snorts at the choice, smiling, but doesn't comment, because Castiel's the brains of the operation, and Dean'll follow Cas wherever he leads.


	12. Retelling

**Title:** Retelling  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** Dean/Castiel, Sam/Gabriel  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> psychopath!Castiel, underage drinking and sex, character death  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> ~1,620  
><strong>Summary:<strong> "Do you remember what happened, Castiel? Does being here…help?"  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. And if you've seen 'The Hole', you will know that I pretty much blatantly ripped off the movie. I'm not even attempting to say I'm not – it's just that plot, retold like…yeah…

* * *

><p>"Do you remember what happened, Castiel? Does being here…help?"<p>

"Maybe…" The teen moves around the small underground bunker, brushing a hand across one of the pale, plastic sheets that the CSI team had erected. He looks towards the entrance, and smirks a little. "Yes. It's all coming back to me now." He shakes his head. "God, I can't believe…"

"Take your time, son. We have time," the therapist says, stepping a little closer, but Castiel holds up a hand, opening his eyes.

"Yes," he whispers….

"…I remember. Dean. It was all about Dean.

I remember being in love with him from the moment I first saw him. He's beautiful, isn't he doctor? Fucking gorgeous, and I…I couldn't get him to even notice that I existed. The only in I had was that my best friend was banging his little brother.

So I arranged for the four of us to come down here. We had to get out of that damned Biology trip to bumfuck nowhere anyway – it wasn't difficult to convince them all to come with me. I came a few days' early and packed loads of provisions, aside from what I could carry." The teen smirks, snorting bitterly. "Saved our fucking lives."

A pause. "Continue, Castiel, please…"

"We partied as only good teenagers can. Gabriel was a total retard – he didn't bring shit. Had to break into my own supplies to feed us all, but it was okay. On the second night, we were all drinking and smoking some really strong shit…but it was all going wrong. Gabriel – God, he's such a whore, isn't he doctor? Mackin' with Sam while Dean felt him up from behind. Didn't know Dean was such a kinky bastard to share a guy with his own brother, but it was…kinda hot. Well, it made me feel hot. That might have been anger.

I went to sleep to the sounds of Sam and Gabriel fucking. Invited Dean to my bed but he just told me to turn the Goddamned light off, so I did." Castiel pauses, smiling a little, biting his lower lip as he straightens, eyes focusing on the frozen therapist. "I'd do anything for him, doctor. Anything it took."

"I understand that, son -."

"No," Castiel whispers, shaking his head. "I don't think you do.

The third day came around, and of course, no one came to get us out. I couldn't help the little thrill that ran up and down my spine when they looked at me with such fear. I held the power – the power of their lives and their deaths in my hands, for the briefest of seconds. I tried to reassure them, tried to bring the group together. 'Bal will get us out', I said. 'He might just be in traffic', I said." Castiel snorts again. "And the poor bastards believed me.

By the fifth day they started to lose a bit of hope – I could see it in their eyes. On the seventh day the water and electricity ran out. Dean was pissed – kept blaming me, kept telling me that Balthazar was my fucking friend, so where the fuck was he? I tried to reassure him, tried to get him to understand that I wouldn't let him come to harm but he wouldn't listen. None of them would – they blamed me and I was on the outside of the three of them.

Dean's so beautiful, you know…even dirty and sweaty and with his lips chapped from dehydration. Without running water we had to rely on what we'd brought. I didn't break into my emergency supplies yet – not yet. They weren't for them. They were for me and Dean and we didn't need them yet.

Dean knew what happens to the body during dehydration – you go crazy after a while, apparently." Castiel bares his teeth in a manic grin, lifting his head. He leans back on the railing, his dark blue eyes carefully taking in the horror on the doctor's face. "Have you ever loved someone so much…that it stops mattering what happens to you? That you start to live everything for them?"

The therapist shakes his head. "No."

"Well I have.

Sam got sick first. Puking his guts up for two days straight. I had to admit I felt a little bit of satisfaction in that – he'd only needed to hold on a little bit longer and Dean would've been mine, and he might still be alive. He puked up blood and died in the nighttime. Dean cried. Gabriel cried. I didn't – we've never been that close.

'Can't sit here and smell him rotting' Gabriel had said. 'Need to get out of here'. But I couldn't let that happen. Not yet – Dean wasn't in love with me yet. You have to understand – they weren't ready. The strong of us were the ones destined to survive and Dean was strong. I was strong. We would get through this…

…But Gabriel's such a fucking slut, I couldn't keep him around. Dean could bond with his best buddy and I would be left alone again…"

A pause.

"I slit his wrists in the nighttime two days after Sam died. Wrote in his blood on the wall an eloquent little suicide note. Here – it's over here." Castiel pauses again, moving over to the far wall of the bunker, pushing a sheet aside to expose the words 'I couldn't do it', written in blood on the wall. "One of my better ideas, I think. Dean was so afraid and lonely after Gabriel died that he kissed me, not even an hour after we covered Gabriel's body with a sheet."

Castiel chuckles, closing his eyes in remembrance. "The way he felt, doctor…

He was so fucking pretty, breathing so hard. So pale from not seeing the sun and his eyes were a little milky. His hands shook, combing through my hair. His body was so warm and hard against mine. 'Don't you leave me too' he said…'Don't leave me here alone'. I promised I wouldn't. Ever. He felt so perfect, his long bow-legs wrapped around me, muffling desperate noises against my lips. He was my everything. And he let me do whatever I wanted. Knelt down and laid back and took it like a perfect, _perfect _boy, like he was born for it. He _was _born for it." Castiel's eyes lock with the therapist's. "He was made for me, and I for him. He's _mine _and I would be damned if I let anyone take that away from me.

I suggested that we could go out together – held the knife up that I killed Gabriel with. But no…he told me I was the only reason he was still alive…He…He told me he loved me. That was all I needed to hear.

I fucked him one more time before I used the key Bal had given me to open the hatch. It woke him up. Understandably he was a bit upset. 'My brother', he said, 'and Gabriel…God, they're both dead because of you!'. He was crying – he's so fucking pretty when he cries, doctor, you have no idea. I climbed down from the ledge and knelt in front of him, holding his face in my hands and I held him close, feeling his warmth, drinking in the taste of his tears. I was surprised he had enough water to cry." Castiel snorts. "I said 'Don't you understand? Now we can be together. I did this for us. Don't you love me anymore?' and he was silent for a really long time…but then he nodded. I kissed him and he kissed me back. He still loves me, doctor, and he's finally mine."

"…Castiel," the therapist whispers, stepping forward and reaching towards the teen with an unsteady hand, "you need to repeat what you've just said to me in front of a judge. We need to submit a formal confession."

"What?" Castiel demands, eyes growing dark and stormy, biting out his words. "Oh hell no – I finally have Dean – you're not taking me away from Dean! He needs me!"

"Castiel, are you down there? Doctor Singer?" The police Chief's voice echoes down into the bunker. Immediately Castiel's whole composure changes – his shoulders hunch, his eyes grow wide and frightened, and he runs towards the hatch as the police come down.

"Thank God you're here!" he cries, throwing himself into the older man's arms. "I was so afraid – he said he would…Please, get me out of here. I need to see Dean. Can I go see Dean?" Singer has to admit – the teenager's good. There are even tears in his eyes.

"Doctor Singer, we found Balthazar," the Chief says, petting through the teenager's hair as Castiel stares at Bobby.

"Yes?" he says, swallowing.

"Found the key to the hatch in his pocket, his body washed up on the river bed. Guilty suicide. The case is officially closed." He pushes Castiel away at arm's length. "Let's go back out and see if we can visit Dean, alright?" he asks, a kind smile on his face, and Castiel smiles back, nodding eagerly, the poster child of a frightened innocent. The police turn around and start back up the ladder to the hatch door, and just before Castiel joins them, he turns to look at his therapist and smiles beatifically, waving.

Helpless to do anything, with the suspect dead and seemingly guilty and the case officially closed, Bobby Singer can only watch the teen leave. He closes his eyes and bows his head, rubbing his temples. He looks around at the crime scene and blows out a sad breath, but he can't prove it.

The truth will forever remain in this bunker, and die with Dean and Castiel.


	13. I Feel Like A Monster

**Title:** I Feel Like A Monster  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** Dean/girl!Castiel  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> AU  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> demon!Dean, fallen!Cas possessing a girl, so het…character death, violence, knife!play, blood!play. Yeah. What you'd expect from me xD  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~2,000  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Castiel senses it like the first slow drag of a cigarette, smoke curling around him, hot and cloying like the scent of burning flesh. The fallen Angel turns hell-black eyes towards the only other occupant in the room. Vivid green eyes flash his way, ravenous and needing in a way that never fails to get Castiel hot all over.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Also, goes pretty well with 'Monster' by Skillet, though that wasn't what inspired the fic (no, that was just my sick, twisted mind. Sigh). It's an awesome song and I recommend it. (: I don't know where this fic came from, but it's dark, and sick, and kind of gross. So…yeah. Oh well.

* * *

><p>Castiel senses it like the first slow drag of a cigarette, smoke curling around him, hot and cloying like the scent of burning flesh. The fallen Angel turns hell-black eyes towards the only other occupant in the room, who, for all intents and purposes, seems engrossed in the task of oiling his knives, sharpening his blades, and cleaning his guns. His face is impassive, smooth, but Castiel can see the little tick in his jaw, the flat hunger in his eyes.<p>

"Hungry, baby?" he whispers, earning the other man's attention. Vivid green eyes flash his way, ravenous and needing in a way that never fails to get Castiel hot all over. The fallen Angel rises from his perch, ebony wings falling down around his sides, and approaches the creature that is not quite man, not quite demon.

A wet tongue slides out of the man's mouth, wetting his lush lips. Many people have died for a taste of that mouth – Castiel made sure of that. The Angel smiles, stepping forward again between his mate's spread legs when Dean leans back, eyes half-lidded, the empty sheath of a knife gripped loosely in his right hand.

Castiel leans down. He can smell his mate's hunger, feel his _need_ like a skittering up and down his spine, like the crawl of an insect or the steady tick of a clock.

Dean draws in a shaky breath, eyelids fluttering as he inhales the scent of ozone and death, surrounding his fallen Angel like smog, like a greasy kind of aura that he can taste in the air. "Goin' hunting?" he asks, voice soft and high like a child's, and Castiel smiles, dipping his head down so he can trail the tip of his nose across Dean's cheekbone, down to his mouth. Their lips drag together but they don't kiss, because if they kiss they will bite, and if they bite they will bleed. If Castiel bleeds, he will die, because Dean will kill him. "I want -."

"To tide you over," Castiel whispers, cupping the side of Dean's face as he nuzzles against his mate's mouth, still not kissing, merely brushing their chapped lips together. Then, his other hand reaches forward. He can feel the man's need like his own, swollen in the throbbing flesh and the aching need between his legs. His hand grazes Dean's erection, gentle and dry, but his fingers dip back before the human can do any more than gasp and roll his hips in invitation.

He conjures slick to his fingers and wishes he had let Dean take a female form. Just once, it would be nice to fuck something sweet and wet without having to bother prepping. Still, the tight clench of Dean's greedy hole around his finger, sucking him in and holding him tight, is enough for any inconvenient stretching beforehand.

Dean's eyes roll to the back of his head, his breath leaves him in a soft whoosh. He moans loudly, unabashedly, and Castiel joins him in his base harmony. He nips gently at Dean's exposed throat, licking up the first few drops of sweat with a satisfied, feral grin. A second finger joins his first and he crooks them to graze his mate's prostate, making Dean tighten around him like a vice.

"I shall bring you the finest cut," he whispers into Dean's ear, listening with rapt awe as the man's pants get a little more desperate, and a little more ragged. The subtle rocks of his hips grow in fervor as he nears his climax. "I shall hunt all night to bring you the perfect sacrifice, beloved."

Dean whimpers, his orgasm hitting him like a wrecking ball as he tenses in Castiel's grip, hard cock spilling his seed over his stomach and groin as he comes untouched, and Castiel wrenches his hand free just to hear Dean whimper again. He wipes the lube onto Dean's cheek, grinning at the dirty-wrong of the act when Dean leans in for a taste.

"Soon, beloved," he whispers, nosing along the clean side of Dean's face. "Soon you shall be sated."

"Hurry, Cas," Dean whispers, voice low and desperate, needy and strung out with hunger.

Castiel smiles, eyes flashing black, and wings away.

* * *

><p>The scent of Dean's hunger permeates the air when he returns. Castiel smiles, looking down at his new body. She's slim, beautiful, with a round face, long raven hair and bright blue eyes to almost match his original vessel.<p>

He can smell her fear, and it's delicious. _Shh_, he soothes the frightened soul, caressing her in what used to be his Grace, and is now little more than a black, jagged piece of glass that has rusted and fallen away from the rest of the stained glass window. _You'll enjoy it. I promise._

As soon as he enters the room, Dean is on him, growling low in his throat with a clean knife pressed against Castiel's heart – _her_ heart. The knife shines brightly, freshly sharpened and oiled and even the slight movement of breathing nicks Castiel's new skin. With a snap of his fingers, his new, temporary vessel is naked, and he lets Dean's eyes rove over the soft curves, the perfect shape of her – slim, her breasts the perfect size and her skin satiny-soft. Dean bares his teeth, just a little, and Castiel can see the flare of lust in his eyes.

"Took you fuckin' long enough," he snaps, voice low and dark and all man, now – all _demon_. His eyes flash black. Then, he smiles – it makes the female soul tremble in fear and reluctant arousal, because even at his worst Dean is still the prettiest damn thing a lot of people have ever seen. "I missed you, baby," he mutters, stepping forward, able to slot perfectly against the female body. Castiel had chosen her because she was just the right size. His bright green eyes are full of promises, dark and filthy, as he smiles and traces one nail down Castiel's cheek. "What took you so long?"

"I told you," Castiel replies in a high, feminine voice, one that makes Dean's mouth twist because it's not his own, "that I would find you the perfect kill."

The female shivers in fear again, and dread.

"She's perfect," Castiel continues, pressing forward, "young, fertile. She's recently bled; her body is full of mating hormones, her blood rich with food and hunger." The fallen Angel smirks when Dean's eyes darken, his nostrils flaring as though he, too, can smell her. He reaches down, taking Dean's hand and places the demon's hand between his legs, and Dean's breath hitches when he feels how _wet_ she is, how her body trembles and tightens with pleasure at the first touch of his calloused fingers against her. "Feel her, Dean?" Castiel whispers, eyes hooded in the aftershocks of pleasure ricocheting through the soul. "Feel how much she wants you?"

Dean bares his teeth in a grin. "Come here, darlin'," he purrs, hooking his fingers so they dip inside of the female vessel, and Castiel's breath hitches, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around Dean. One of Dean's hands fists in her lovely raven hair, thick and luxurious, and pulls so the creamy skin of her throat is exposed.

Dean makes a surprised sound when more slick gushes out of her, coating his fingers and making them slide together like they were coated in oil. "Fuck," he growls, shoving his fingers in deeper and making Castiel whimper. "Fucking _soaked_ for me, sweetheart."

"Dean," Castiel whispers, fingernails digging into the meaty part of Dean's shoulders as he clutches closer. "Come on, baby," he demands, impatient, feeling Dean's hunger like his own, building up between them. "I promised her a fucking wild night. Not gonna disappoint, are you?"

Dean chuckles. "When have I ever?" he growls, and Castiel laughs, before gasping when Dean's fingers slip from his wet hole, and Dean instead lifts the slim female, carrying her over to the bed and throwing her down. The demon covers Castiel with his larger bulk, growling in pleasure at the feeling of the soft curves, the sound of the pulsing blood in his throat. He bites down because he can, because he doesn't give a shit about this bitch, and draws blood, sucking on it like a baby at its mother's breast.

The quiet whimper of the soul is transformed into a loud, guttural moan from Castiel's mouth. "Dean!" he cries, clutching at the demon as, without bothering with foreplay or preamble, the man lines himself up and thrusts into the female's tight, wet heat. Both of them let out low, ragged moans, because it turns Castiel on like _fuck_ when Dean just uses him inside of a stranger's body, just fucks him like a Goddamn animal and doesn't give a shit whether the body Castiel's in gets off or not. He likes it when he can feel their pain.

"_Fuck_," Dean growls, head hanging down between the girl's breasts, breath ghosting over the rise of her creamy skin and raising goosebumps. "Brought me a fucking virgin, did ya, Cas?"

They both laugh as Dean pulls out, slow drag of his cock sparking along every inch of Castiel's vessel. "Sluttiest virgin I ever met," he replies, choking when Dean slams back in, and throws his head back, baring his bleeding neck. "Mm, fuck, baby, harder."

Dean obliges, and Castiel's eyes fly open when he feels the cold, sharp edge of a blade against his throat. His eyes widen, seeing the dark promises, the _hunger_ in Dean's eyes, and he bares his teeth in eagerness. "Do it," he growls, and Dean laughs, thrusting in one more, harsh time inside of the girl before slitting her throat.

The hot pulse of blood, the scent of it in the air, is enough to have Dean coming inside of her, able to see the light of the soul splutter and die like a weak candle flame. Black fire explodes in the room as Castiel leaves the body, leaves Dean to fuck the girl through the aftershocks as she lays there, choking on her own blood.

When Dean is finished and pulling out, he doesn't get far – Castiel is back, snarling, biting and clawing at Dean's body and throwing his knife away so he can't cut back, and shoves the demon down to the floor. His body is raw with lust, unsatisfied hunger, and Dean moans, back arching beautifully, knees spread like a bitch in heat as he presses back against Castiel, eyes closing at the feel of the fallen Angel's dark wings falling across his flanks.

Castiel rocks up, pressing against Dean's barely-stretched hole, and forces his way inside his mate's trembling, sweaty body. Dean moans when Castiel bottoms out, sated body too strung-out, too sensitive to bear the Angel's brutal fucking, but he does anyway because the pain feels so fucking good, the casual ownership and blatant apathy towards his own need so fucking _right_, that he doesn't try and stop it. He takes it all, on his hands and knees while Castiel fucks him, body eagerly milking the Angel for his seed when Castiel stills and comes inside him.

When they both collapse, sweaty and sated and the hunger dimmed to a dull background _throb_, Castiel pulls out, combing a hand through Dean's hair and knotting his fingers hard enough to tug, to make Dean's head turn to the side.

"Next time," the Angel growls, "you're the fucking girl."

Dean moans brokenly, another painful aftershock flaring up in the base of his spine, and he grins when he feels the hunger start to build again. He can't wait.


	14. Purrs

**Title: ***Purr*  
><strong>Author: <strong>HigherMagic  
><strong>Pairings:<strong> Dean/Castiel (mild)  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> ~ 2200  
><strong>Spoilers: <strong>5x08  
><strong>Summary:<strong> There's suddenly a kitten in Sam's motel room.  
><strong>NotesWarnings:** CRACK. Kitten!Dean

* * *

><p>Sam woke up to something lightly pressing against his face. It was warm and felt kind of leathery, and it was very small, pressing down on the tip of his nose. He sniffled, swiping at his face, and turned his head away, sighing back into sleep. No matter how many times John and Dean had tried to train him otherwise, he had never been one to wake up quickly.<p>

The light pressure kept coming, and a weight settled over Sam's collarbone. It was warm and fluffy, and accompanied with a slight scratch. Sam shifted again, still half-asleep and trying to stay that way, and finally the little weight was tired of it, and dug its claws in. Hard.

Sam jerked upright suddenly, sending the clawing little weight tumbling down his chest and landing in his sheet-covered lap. It meowed in a very dissatisfied way, and Sam looked down to see…

A kitten. Sprawled on its back, legs up in the air and blinking up at Sam as though it was just as surprised at being there as Sam was.

Sam gaped at the kitten. It blinked back at him, and then meowed again, showing tiny, pointy white teeth, and rolled into its feet, stumbling a little at the hard terrain of Sam's legs and the sheets. It was very small – could probably fit in Sam's palm – and looked kind of like a mini snow leopard, with white feet and a white splotch across its face.

He looked around, wanting a witness to this weird phenomenon of kittens suddenly appearing in his motel room. The only thing he could think of was that it had been left behind by someone or was a stray that had managed to get in through the window of the bathroom, or something. He didn't know. Sam looked down again, picking up the kitten and stroking it absently, letting it settle on his thigh as he looked around for his brother.

Dean wasn't in his bed. The bathroom door was open and the light was on but no one was in there either. Sam couldn't see or hear his brother anywhere, and his keys and stuff was still here. "Dean?" Sam called out cautiously, because sometimes you just have to try it.

The kitten meowed and scrambled around on Sam's leg. Sam shushed it and scratched behind its ears. The kitten kind of…flopped, limp at the treatment and Sam grinned as it started purring. "Dean?" he called again, louder. The kitten meowed once more, and Sam hissed as he felt tiny claws digging into the muscle of his leg. He carefully pried the kitten away. "No," he said in a baby voice that was impossible to _not _talk to animals in. The kitten just looked at him in a very unimpressed way.

It meowed once more, wriggling around in Sam's grip. It had a thin black collar around its neck and Sam frowned, getting a hold of the tiny golden pendant hanging from the collar. The kitten continued to wriggle, making it very hard to see any identification on the tag, and the kitten meowed once more – a small, high-pitched sound that was freaking adorable – and grabbed onto Sam's fingers with its front paws, claws digging in for purchase, and it started gnawing at the first knuckle. It would hurt if the cat's teeth weren't so small, so Sam could only grin as it gnawed and clawed at him. Playing.

Not minding getting bitten, Sam set the cat down onto its back and looked at the tag. It looked kind of like…oh _hell _no.

Sam sat back, withdrawing his hand, and the kitten's grass green eyes met his. "Dean?" he asked in disbelief. The cat meowed, ears going forward towards Sam, and Sam groaned. Figures.

"Well."

Dean meowed. He seemed to agree.

* * *

><p>Dean as a kitten, while significantly less…well. No. Dean as a kitten was almost the same as him as a human, except now Sam had to watch out for shit like him falling and drowning in the toilet bowl, or falling off the bed and <em>not <em>landing on his feet (hadn't happened yet, but you never know) or digging into the covers and suffocating.

It didn't help that Sam kind of wanted to pet him, because Dean made a freaking _adorable _cat. He was all cute and fluffy and he fit easily into Sam's hand. It seemed that while Dean had retained some of his cognitive thought, he'd regressed a little. This included finding new wonder in the guns and clothes that were in Sam's and his duffle bags, and trying to climb up the wooden screens and getting stuck, meowing until Sam had to come and get him down, wherein he would try and climb up again. He did _not _appreciate getting talked to like a five-year-old though, and would hiss whenever Sam tried to carry him anywhere – because flying includes being carried by Gigantor, thank you.

And when Sam tried _baby talk…_Dean would flip out. Raising hell, quite literally. But Sam hadn't had a pet since Bones and he loved cats, and despite the fact that it was Dean it was still a kitten and therefore adorable as all freaking get out.

Sam was trying to do research, and he felt a pressure at his pants leg. He scooted back and found Dean trying to climb up him, claws digging into the jeans as he tried to pull himself up. When Sam leaned down to try and help him Dean hissed, ears back, baring his pitifully small teeth, and Sam rolled his eyes and let his prideful brother try and haul himself up into Sam's lap.

Eventually Dean did make it, and curled up in Sam's lap while he recovered. He was a warm patch of fuzz on Sam's leg and Sam couldn't help himself. He reached down and started petting the kitten, typing with the other hand, and it took him a moment over the whirr of his computer to hear that Dean was purring.

"Dude," he said with a laugh, looking down as Dean blinked up one green eye at him. The kitten seemed to shrug, sprawling out more comfortably over Sam's leg, front feet hanging between Sam's legs and the other two around the other side, eyes closing again as he stretched out and let Sam pet him. More evidence of Dean's lessened human thoughts.

"He's going to kick your ass when he's a human. His words, not mine."

Sam jumped at the voice, looking around to see Castiel watching the two of them with a cocked head and curious expression – you know; the usual. Dean meowed loudly, scrambling to his feet and dropping quickly to the floor and tore over to Castiel. He immediately jumped up and hooked a claw into one of the loose ties of Castiel's trench coat. When it gave and he fell back to the ground, he continued to stare at it as though it enthralled him. And bounced up again, batting at it, getting more and more animated as the tie swung more violently, until Castiel finally stooped down and picked him up. Dean immediately settled, digging his claws into the meaty part of Castiel thumb and nuzzled into his palm, curling up quite contentedly in the circle of Castiel's arm.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Sure, preferential treatment to your boyfriend." Dean didn't move much – just flicked the tip of his tail in Sam's direction – but it felt like he was getting flipped off.

Dean started purring very loudly when Castiel scratched behind his ears, turning his head into the touch and digging in his claws more insistently, and Castiel walked over to Sam, looking onto the laptop where Sam was doing research on what could have turned Dean into a cat.

"I was thinking witches," Sam said after a moment, figuring Castiel was too busy petting Dean to actually say anything, and turned his laptop so the screen was facing the angel. "But we weren't hunting them so unless it was random, like that body-swapping teenager, I don't have any other theories. We haven't been near any magical objects so…"

"The origin of this curse is not pagan," Castiel said after a moment, frowning down at Dean as the kitten happily purred around in his hands, rolling onto his back when Castiel curled his fingers under Dean's belly – and wow, Sam could make so many jokes about that but it's awkward when referring to them right now is bestiality.

"Oh…kay…" Sam trailed off, waiting for Castiel to finish that half-sentence.

"I know what the cause of this is," the angel said, setting Dean down on the table and then disappearing in a flutter of wings. Dean's ears perked forward towards where Castiel used to be, meowing once lightly, before the kitten promptly turned and started grooming himself.

"Oh, dude," Sam said, turning his face away from Dean as his brother promptly began to show that he had no sense of modesty as a cat. Awkward.

* * *

><p>Sam was one of those people who couldn't resist trying out stereotypes. That's way a couple hours later the Winchesters were currently very occupied. Well, Dean was occupied. Sam was just laughing his ass off. You see, there's this thing with cats and laser pointers…you see where I'm going with this? Good.<p>

At first Dean seemed to pointedly ignore it, as though it was below him to even pretend to play around with such demeaning things. However, Sam had kept flicking it, towards him and away, and then Dean kind of…exploded, tearing at the wall as though determined to kill that red dot and all the lasers that were associated with it. It was freaking hilarious.

Sometimes Sam would turn the pointer off and watch as Dean ran around the room trying to find it, prowling as though he was the big scary king of the jungle, which of course made Sam laugh more. After a while it was like the effects of the laser-pointer's brainwashing powers would wear off, at which point Dean would puff himself up and hiss at Sam in what was probably meant to be a threatening and angry way, but just made Sam grin, and then start the laser pointer game again.

That and string. Dean had managed to unwind one of Sam's shoelaces and was currently working himself up into a bit of a frenzy, since he had been playing with the string and then seemed to have managed to tie himself up in such a way that getting out was Mission Impossible. Sam has many new wallpapers to treasure forever.

Suddenly there was a flutter of feathers and Castiel was in the room again, along with Gabriel. Sam rolled his eyes – he should have known. The ex-Trickster was sucking on the end of a strawberry lace, licking the sour crystally goodness before chewing the rest up. Dean rolled onto his back – the only way he could move – until he could face Gabriel and started hissing, struggling with renewed vigor against the shoelace to try and get out so he could promptly claw Gabriel's face off.

"Aww, how cute!" Gabriel cooed, smirking at Dean as he bent down and picked up the kitten by a knot of shoelace. Dean tried clawing at him but he really _was _tied up quite badly, so couldn't move much more than swinging a little. Didn't stop him hissing and bearing his tiny claws though as he glared at Gabriel with all the power of feline hatred. "Dean-o, you're so adorable," he taunted.

"Gabriel," Sam sighed out, pinching his nose. "Did you seriously turn my brother into a kitten?"

"Why not?" the Archangel replied with a shrug, holding the enraged feline out above thin air, which stilled Dean's struggling somewhat. "He whines like one. You're lucky I didn't turn him into a piglet or something."

The kitten hissed again.

"Change him back," Castiel demanded, rubbing his eye after a moment. He sounded congested. Sam frowned at the angel.

"You okay, Cas?"

"My vessel seems to be reacting negatively to this feline form," he informed them, promptly followed by a sneeze. His eyes were reddening and he sneezed again. "I believe Jimmy was allergic to cats."

Gabriel howled with laughter.

"It's not funny," Sam said, and Dean meowed in agreement. "Change him back." Castiel sneezed again. Dean hissed.

"Dean says…" sneeze "that when he gets back to" sneeze "to normal, he's going to" sneeze, eye rub, sniff "'shiv your ass'."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow at the silently fuming, enraged kitten. Dean looked like a giant puffball, and it was really hard to take someone seriously when they looked like that, so Gabriel didn't. But he did sigh. "Fine, but only because you guys are no fun." He snapped his fingers and Dean crashed to the ground, naked except for some shoelace wrapped around his shoulders and arms. Sam averted his gaze for his brother's modesty.

"So, Dean-o!" Gabriel said, clapping his hands together and taking advantage of Dean's momentary disorientation, because changing forms can mess up someone's cognitive thinking for a while, and motor skills, trying to move parts of muscles that are in a different place now. "How did you like being a cat? Do they dream? What does purring feel like? Do cats feel like there's a higher purpose in life?"

Dean glared up at Gabriel, and opened his mouth. A tiny meow came out and he promptly shut it again, covering his mouth as he looked, wide-eyed, at first Sam then Castiel. He tried again only hissed instead.

Gabriel cackled, and then promptly disappeared.

"Meow-me-ow- Meow!" *

*That's 'Son of a bitch' in kitten language.


	15. Disciple

**Title:** Disciple  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** mute!Dean/Castiel  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> AU  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> underage (Dean is 16, and mentions of times before that)  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~2,500  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Dean was born different. Not different, _bad,_ per say. Just a little…off.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Was blind-sided by this. I think Muse is fighting with Minion again. *headdesk* Anyway, I kind of wanted to write a completely silent fic. So, here's my attempt :D Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

><p>Dean was born different. Not different, <em>bad<em>, per say. Just a little…off. It showed in the baby's unnatural silence, like he was constantly listening, and waiting for something, or someone – waiting for a specific sound so that he could react to it. No matter how much his parents tried, Dean refused to break the silence. They eventually made him say his first words when he was seven years old, and they had been 'Be quiet'.

Dean hated noise – any kind of noise, from birds singing outside his bedroom window, to his parents quietly talking through the thin walls of their house, to baby Sam's wails, when he had been born. He hated school – he'd run away on the first day and eventually his parents decided to take up sign language and teach him at home, because he just couldn't handle any kind of noise. The doctors couldn't explain it – Dean was perfectly healthy. By all rights he should be able to speak and hear normally, so it wasn't any kind of physical defect that made him this way. His mental acuity, too, seemed totally on par with normal kids his age.

They couldn't explain it, so eventually his parents stopped trying and just accepted it as one of those things. They still loved Dean, of course, and treated him as though he were any other normal boy, even if they had to make sure he was looking at them so he could read whatever they signed his way. It was like having a deaf child – though, of course, they also had to be careful of what they said around Dean.

Usually, though, if they started talking, he left the room to be on his own. They had invested in soundproofing his room more than any of the others so that, when the door and the window was closed, it was like Dean was in his own little bubble and it was absolutely silent.

At sixteen, now, Dean had yet to say any word aside from those two that had been forced out of him with gritted teeth and hateful eyes when he was seven. Sammy didn't understand it – Dean could speak. They _knew_ he could, so why didn't he? And why did Sam always have to be quiet? It frustrated Dean that they just didn't _understand_.

He closed the door to his bedroom, sighing softly against the seam of the closed door when, like a vacuum, everything suddenly became absolutely muted. Dean felt like he couldn't even hear his own heartbeat, and it was wonderful.

He felt warm breath on the back of his neck, raising goose bumps on his sensitive skin, and the hairs on the back of his neck began to rise, before he opened his eyes and turned around, smiling when he was met with vibrant blue eyes and a softly curved mouth. He leaned forward, sucking in a quick breath before the kiss so that he could hold it and make it last longer.

Faster than Dean could react, an arm flung itself forward, long, sharp nails burying themselves in Dean's door, and the arm locked, trapping Dean in place while the creature's other hand came to rest on the small of Dean's back, making the young human arch into him.

The taste of the creature's mouth was like something Dean never had a hope of naming – he tasted like cinnamon and honey, leather and blood, and Dean eagerly tilted his head, tongue slipping inside the creature's parted jaws, begging for more with needy flicks of his tongue and the desperate press of his body.

Castiel growled, baring sharp, backward-facing teeth against the soft, pliant flesh of Dean's mouth, and lunged forward, pinning the trembling boy between the hard door and his body. Lean and wiry, Castiel's body wasn't much – in fact, he was getting to be smaller than Dean – but every inch of him that existed was pure muscle, and power; tightly controlled, restrained, locked up and cinched down in this human-looking, breakable skin.

Dean gasped quietly – just a soft whuff of air into Castiel's mouth, and the beast smiled, feral. He carefully extricated his nails from the door, using some of his magic to remove the marks of his nails as though they had never been there, and instead hooked his fingers into the meat at the backs of Dean's thighs, hauling the boy up, and Dean went willingly, obediently wrapping his legs tightly around Castiel's waist so that the creature could support his weight, back braced against the door.

Dean didn't speak – Castiel knew that – but that didn't mean he never said anything. His body, begging so loudly for Castiel's touch, drew the creature in. Castiel smiled against the youth's eager mouth, moving his hands away from Dean's thighs and groaning softly in his throat when he felt Dean tense up around him in response, his thighs tightening so that he wouldn't fall – it would crush a normal person, the grip of those strong, muscular legs.

Castiel purred, his hands digging under the thin material of Dean's t-shirt, eager to feel all that warm, smooth flesh beneath his hands, and Dean shivered, arching into the touch as he continued to bite and mouth at Castiel's jaw, careful not to mark the creature because Castiel didn't like that.

All of a sudden they were on Dean's bed, the mattress squeaking slightly when their weight bore down on it, and Dean flinched, but Castiel shushed him with a forgiving smile, pressing his nose against Dean's jaw and licking at the human's vulnerable throat. He didn't mind the occasional noise – it wasn't Dean's fault, after all.

Castiel spoke; all the time, in fact. He would often talk to Dean and lull him to sleep with his deep, sensual voice, his arms encasing the youth, petting and stroking and caressing him until Dean drifted off, sated and sore – why would Dean ever want to mar that perfection with his own voice? Surely his voice could never compare to Castiel's, to such beauty. He could never compare so why should he ever try? Why should the whole _world_ ever _dare_ to match the sound of Castiel's voice?

A small, needy sound escaped Dean when Castiel's weight fell between his legs, Dean's greed making him arch up, to rub his erection against the creature's smooth, taught belly for his own satisfaction. Castiel covered Dean's lips in another kiss, his clawed hands shredding Dean's clothing from his body and baring his tanned, gorgeous skin to the moonlight filtering in from outside, and Castiel's hungry eyes. Blue flashed in the silver-tinted room, and Castiel's teeth flashed white and brilliant, deadly against Dean's sensitive mouth. A low purr rumbled in his chest, the creature's eyes fluttering closed as he allowed himself to become lost in the taste of Dean's mouth, in the feel of how his lips opened so readily to Castiel's tongue and teeth – awe, over how easily the boy let him in.

Castiel's clawed hands moved to his own clothing, tearing his t-shirt over his head even though he had to break the kiss to do so, making Dean gasp. Hungry, needy eyes glazed over with lust raked over his body, as possessive as the creature was, though far more subtle about it. Dean pressed his lips together in dissatisfaction when Castiel leaned back, rocking on the balls of his feet so that he could undo the button and zip of his jeans, and Castiel smiled, amused at Dean's quiet orders for him to get back where he belonged.

The creature chuckled – a low, rough sound that was like he had been gargling gravel, and peeled his jeans down over his ass and down his thighs, baring his hard cock to the air of Dean's bedroom and the heat of the youth's pleasure-glazed eyes. Dean pressed his lips together again, hips bucking up in eagerness as he spread his legs a little further.

Sometimes, Dean begged so loudly, without saying a single thing.

Castiel rolled forward, falling over Dean's body again. The heat of the human's skin felt like it was burning him as Castiel let his weight rest on Dean's chest, letting the human feel their heartbeats together and allowing Dean to run greedy, gentle fingers through his hair. So gentle, his boy was. Castiel purred in pleasure, rolling his hips against Dean's, riding the crease of his thigh while his hand flew to Dean's bedside table, where he knew the sneaky little minx kept lube at all times. He smirked to himself when his hand closed around the now-familiar bottle, and Dean's eyes widened at the sound of it popping open.

It must be a Pavlovian response, by now, that he bucks his hips up and starts to pant whenever he hears that sound, or scents the minty tang of the menthol lube in the air.

Usually, Castiel would coax Dean to orgasm several times, each time lulling him over that knife-edge with hard demands in his ear, rough growls of what Castiel would do to Dean if they had all the time in the world; telling him how beautiful he was, writhing and moaning like that, his skin all flushed and sweaty; so needy, pretty boy, God, so fucking gorgeous, do you have any idea what you do to me…?

But not tonight. They haven't seen each other for weeks, and Castiel was done with waiting – he wanted to be inside his gorgeous boy _now_ and so, baring his sharp teeth against the youth's throat, he worked two slick fingers inside of Dean straight away, listening avidly to the half-gasped moans of pain and pleasure as Dean's body tightened up. He felt the tensing of Dean's muscles around his fingers, trying to force him back out instinctively before the conscious effort to relax took over and Dean let him in. Castiel purred his praises into Dean's throbbing pulse, licking along the flexing tendon in his neck and tasting sweat and need on the youth's skin.

Finally, when he could wait no longer, Castiel threw the bottle of lube away for Dean to recover later, and crawled back onto his hands and knees over the boy. Dean's arms went around his shoulders, pulling him down, his hips bucking up, thighs encasing Castiel's hips to entice him down, and the creature went with a low purr, rocking his hips until he found the entrance of Dean's tight, slick hole, and started to push in, in short, jabbing thrusts, like a dog mounting his bitch.

Dean whuffed softly against Castiel's cheek, his young body trembling in satisfaction and need when Castiel fucked into him, the creature growling softly, _affectionately_, into Dean's ear; such a good boy. Takin' me so nicely.

Nails turned to claws in Castiel's back, Dean dragging them down his spine and raising red lines on either side, marking Castiel even though he didn't mean to, and eliciting a snarl from the older, more powerful creature. Castiel tossed his head, catching Dean's mouth again, punishing him with a kiss as his hips jerked forward, hilting himself fully in one thrust that jarred Dean's entire body and made him gasp.

Immediately Dean's hands gentled, his fingertips soothing over Castiel's flanks in apology; repentance shone in his emotive green eyes, and Castiel smiled again in a forgiving way, licking at the corner of Dean's mouth to try and entice a smile out of him, kissing the boy's cheek and down his throat in wet, open-mouthed marks until Dean smiled and relaxed for him.

Castiel's hand pet through Dean's hair as he rocked his hips, striking the boy's prostate easily, well-practiced in making Dean's body sing for him without words, and Dean's breath hitched, his thighs tensing around Castiel as he bucked again, eager for Castiel to sink in deeper.

Soon, Castiel began to build up a rhythm, switching between rutting and thrusting and leaving Dean breathless either way. It wasn't long before the boy was locking up, coming like the teenager he was all over his stomach and Castiel's with tiny, almost-unperceivable whimpers against the creature's mouth.

Castiel growled, his clawed hands flying to Dean's flanks and digging in, selfish with his own pleasure now that his boy was satisfied, and the face that Dean just lied back and let himself be used for Castiel's pleasure made need shoot through him like a lightning strike. He growled again in victory, in dominance, sucking a huge mark onto Dean's shoulder – far enough away from his throat that a shirt could cover it, though he didn't want to – as he stilled, fully sheathed inside of his boy, and came, thick and pulsing, into Dean's welcoming body.

Dean smiled in satisfaction, beautiful green eyes half-lidded and glazed over in pleasure as he pet Castiel's hair, soothing him through his high until the creature came back down to him. Finally, Castiel stirred, blinking lazily, his eyes blue and glowing, and he rolled his hips, lifting himself up so that he slipped from Dean's open body, startling a small sound out of the youth.

Dean's eyes widened, and he reached for Castiel's hand, tugging on it lightly. Castiel understood what Dean meant, and he smiled, nodding, and pulled Dean from his bed. He licked once, lightly, at Dean's cheek to coax out another smile, and then pulled Dean's and his discarded clothes from the bed, throwing them under it before he pulled the sheets back. After a few moments of rearranging, the sheets had been built up to form some kind of crude den, and Dean grinned at Castiel, crawling into it and pulling the 'lid' over himself, waiting for Castiel to crawl in and join him.

The creature's glowing blue eyes preceded his shadow, and then Dean shut the den behind them, so it was just them in their little cocoon. Dean smiled, leaning forward and catching Castiel's chin in his kiss, huffing softly and then smiled when Castiel turned his head and obligingly met him for a kiss.

He curled up against Castiel's strong body, sighing in happiness when he felt Castiel's strong arms wrapped around him. The creature was purring, petting down Dean's flank, nuzzling into the back of his neck.

Dean didn't know what Castiel was, except for the man who always talked to him and always brought him freedom and pleasure unlike anything he'd ever known. Maybe, one day, Dean would get up the nerve to ask Castiel to, when he left, not leave Dean behind.

One day, Dean would ask to go with Castiel.

He fell asleep smiling, listening to the soft humming in his ear, burrowed close in his nest of blankets, and wondered if maybe that day was going to be tomorrow morning, sunrise.


	16. Savior

**Title:** Savior  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-15 for language  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** Dean/Castiel  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Starvation, randomness  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> ~2,100  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Eight days of Hell.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. OKAY, so I was suffering from huge writer's block so I wrote this to try and get over it. It's random, and weird, and not very good. Research led me to believe that a very healthy person could live for eight days, totally deprived of water. Apparently some people take this course to try suicide. Or you can accept that maybe being _him_, he won't die easy. Whatever floats your boat.

* * *

><p><strong>Day One<strong>

He's beaten himself bloody trying to get out, but the motherfucker must have cemented the damned door closed because he's not getting any headway. He'd even gone so far as to dislocate his shoulder trying to beat the door down, and now he's stuck in this tiny, empty room, staring at a door that firmly refuses to open. His arm is cradled awkwardly to his chest – with a lot of cursing and swearing and bouts of dizziness from pain, he manages to fashion a kind of sling from his over shirt, which had been ripped and torn in the scuffle, so that his arm doesn't get any more out of whack that it has to be.

The room is devoid of windows, and there's only the one door. The ceiling is very high so there's no chance of reaching that damned air vent, especially with his fucked up arm now, and there are no structural flaws that he can see. It's like the room was hollowed out instead of built. His cell phone's been taken away and his shouts bring no help – he calls for anyone, everyone he can think of that might hear him, but he doesn't know where he is. No one comes.

* * *

><p><strong>Day Two<strong>

Thirst and hunger start to really get to him on the second day. He knows that licking his lips won't solve anything but that can't stop him from doing it – occasionally, with nothing else to do but scream himself hoarse and maybe wait for the sick son of a bitch who locked him in here to show his face, he bends back one of his fingernails against the door until it bleeds, and then rubs the blood on his lips to moisten them. It's not a permanent fix but it'll do for now.

He hasn't eaten for two days and, though he's used to going without, the blood loss is starting to induce a creeping lethargy, but he's afraid to go to sleep just in case that's what the psychopath is waiting for – when he shows up, he wants to be ready.

He's worried for his family – his brother, his friends, his mentor and trusted companions. Where are they? Are they looking for him? Do they know who took him – are they trapped as well? What if they're dead, or being led into a trap? He hates his uselessness – he's never taken playing the role of bait very well. That's usually his brother's job or the hapless victim that they're trying to save. Not his.

He continually swallows just so that it feels like he's drinking something. In the room it is a little too hot, and he tries his best to shed clothing, but with his arm – swollen, red, puffy and very sore now – it's hard. He ends up just tearing his t-shirt apart so it's just hanging off his injured shoulder and the rest of his skin is bared so that he can cool down. The air vent is the only noise, clanking and stuttering away high above his head.

* * *

><p><strong>Day Three<strong>

His arm feels a little better now. He has succumbed to sleep, because there's only so long one can stare at a door before dreaming seems like a better idea. In his dreams, he expects someone to show up, to find him, but then he remembers that thanks to certain sigils, he is hidden. And it's not like he can tell an ally where he is because he doesn't even know. All he knows is some guy jumped him outside a bar and knocked him unconscious (after a scuffle; he doesn't go down without a fight) and then he woke up here. Not very helpful.

He sleeps through most of this day, until the thirst wakes him up again.

* * *

><p><strong>Day Four<strong>

The stale stink of an unwashed body has started to overwhelm everything else. The air vent isn't strong enough to get rid of the scent of days-old blood and sweat, and urine in a corner because there was nowhere else to go. It's dried by now and it reeks, and he does his best to avoid it because the scent, as it grows stronger, kind of makes him want to vomit, which wouldn't help the stench situation any more. He toes off his boots and socks, too hot with them on, and crudely rolls his jeans up to his knees. He's getting thinner – his body is digesting fat cells to get the water that he's not getting himself, and his jeans are fitting just a little looser. He would be worried but he doesn't have the energy to worry for himself – he just hopes that the people who got him didn't get his friends and brother, too.

* * *

><p><strong>Day Five<strong>

They say prayer is the last act of a desperate man – it is prayer that he turns to now. Not for himself, although that would be nice, he adds as an afterthought, but just for justice. He doesn't like the idea of just wasting away in some room while a psychopath is out there terrorizing others, possibly doing the same sick things to other, innocent people. He prays to Castiel, the Brothers' Angel, hoping that maybe, somewhere, the Angel will hear him and come to help, but his hopes aren't high – there's no sunlight in here so he doesn't know how much time has passed, but he knows it's been a while. He's gotten really good at seeing himself in the dark, and his shoulder is now nothing more than background, dull throbbing to the beat of his lazy heart. His lips are becoming cracked and dry, spilling little beads of blood that he licks away in hopes of getting water that way, somehow. He doesn't know – holding onto thoughts is getting a little difficult. He should probably be angry – should probably be more defiant, but honestly they'd caught him at kind of a bad time and he's a little too tired to yell at nothing right now. Maybe later, after some more sleep.

* * *

><p><strong>Day Six<strong>

Moving is practically impossible now – the air vent has finally given out, and it's dreadfully silent. He wonders where he is – maybe in a locked cellar in a vault in a basement underneath the Pentagon or something equally Bond-movie-esque. Or maybe he's just in an outhouse in the middle of bumfuck, nowhere. Or maybe he's actually dead and this is Hell, or Purgatory.

He likes to think he would recognize Hell. It was his summer home for a while.

The thought brings a small smirk to his face, and he snorts – the sound is deafening in the room. It almost startles him. He's too tired to do much more than shift his weight so blood flow returns to the side of his body that had been leaning against the wall, and then lie down and close his eyes again. He might be hallucinating, because when he closes his eyes he imagines he can hear a low rushing sound of water, and footsteps outside, and people calling his name.

* * *

><p><strong>Day Seven<strong>

He's dying. He can feel it – it comes in the dry rattle of the inhale through his parched lungs and throat, air scraping over his insides like sandpaper. It's in the way he wakes up in cold sweats despite how hot the air is, how he's either shivering or sweating from fever – he's sick and starving and no one's coming. No one can hear him – no one will hear him.

It seems kind of strange…anticlimactic. He'd always figure he'd go out with a bang, not a hiccup. In some glorious, death-defying (and then not) stunt or show of heroism or feat of bravery. He's always been a bit of a glory hog at heart, but no…this is quiet, and very peaceful, when he's not coughing up blood and something else that is slick and tastes strange and is something that he would rather not think about.

He prays, one last time, because that's how it always is in movies, right? One last hopeful whisper…

"Please."

It's not the best last word, of course – he could probably think of something better, but he's really tired right now, so he's not going to.

_"Are you ready to be saved, Dean Winchester?"_

It's probably just another figment of his imagination – what use is lying to himself? "Yes," he replies, throat raw and voice very soft, because he can't do anything more than that.

* * *

><p><strong>Day Eight<strong>

The door flies open on this day – the light outside is blinding and Dean feels like his eyes are being burned out of his sockets – he cries out hoarsely and without a voice because his voice has left him, and shields his eyes from the glorious, ethereal light that pulses to the rhythm of a heart. Then, there is a shadow falling across the doorway, eclipsing the sun, and it comes forward hurriedly, kneeling down next to Dean. The Hunter feels fingers at his pulse, checking for life, and then a broken sob of relief. Something warm and soft presses against his injured shoulder, but it doesn't hurt – it feels kind of pleasant, actually.

"Dean, Dean, thank the Father, thank the Father I've found you." Fingers knot in the tattered remains of his shirt, and Dean dares to turn his head, just barely making out the tan corner of a trench coat and a tuft of thick black hair.

"Cas?" he whispers, but he doesn't make a sound. He coughs instead, and it elicits another broken sound from the Angel. "Cas? What happened?" _Did you save me?_

"Shh, Dean, shh, it's alright now." The Angel sounds so relieved – Dean can't move. He just curls up and lays down onto the floor again, because he's very tired. Castiel's hands fan out over his chest and roll Dean onto his back, but the Hunter whines and shies away because that means he has to look towards the light and it hurts his eyes.

Castiel leans forward, shielding Dean's sight with his body, and rests his forehead against the Hunter's. Dean dares to open his eyes and sees that Castiel is smiling, his eyes glowing with relief and joy at finding Dean, alive and relatively whole. He can't open his mouth to try and say anything before Castiel cups his jaw and draws him up into a kiss. It's light, but it seems like, just from that one contact, energy and life flows from Castiel into Dean – his body feels rejuvenated and alive again as Castiel presses their lips together. The Angel's Grace flows into Dean's body and Castiel's hand finds Dean's injured shoulder, pressing against it and healing it, and his other hand settles over Dean's heart and gives the worn muscle new life, spreads life giving waters through Dean's body and fills his belly with the sated feeling of fullness and satisfaction. It is like Dean has just been given a full meal and all the water he can drink, and all the aches and pains of his body are gone.

Dean feels a gentle hand combing through his hair, and relaxes a little, falling back against the floor. He blinks up at Castiel, swallowing and finding that he _can_. God, the feeling of saliva in his mouth is, oddly, the best damn thing he's felt in what seems like forever. "Cas," he whispers, and it comes out strong. The Seraph's smile is blinding. "How did you find me? Where am I?"

"You are with me," Castiel replies, pressing their foreheads together again, taking Dean's hand in his own and holding it tightly before pressing it against his heart. "You are with me, and you are safe. That is all that matters."

Dean licks his lips again. "Sam?"

"Also safe." A pause. "I swear, Dean, if anything had happened…if you had _died_…" The Seraph's eyes flash, a low snarl tailing the word, and then he shakes his head. "But you are here. You are safe."

"Yeah…" Dean swallows again. "Thanks, Cas."

Castiel smiles again, and leans down to slant his lips over Dean's. The Hunter's eyes close, leaning into it, parting his lips at the first tentative swipe of Castiel's tongue against the seam of his lips, allowing the Angel in, and they share in that act a reunion and a promise, contrition and adoration.

"You are with me," Castiel whispers when they part, closing his eyes and his hand tightens just a little around Dean's. "That is all that matters. That is where you belong."


	17. Ninja

**Title: **Ninja  
><strong>Author: <strong>HigherMagic  
><strong>PairingCharacters: **Gabriel/Crowley, cameo from Dean  
><strong>Rating: <strong>NC-17  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Gabriel and Crowley play 'Ninja', and then do other things.

* * *

><p>"Forearms and thighs only. You ready?"<p>

Crowley nodded, a smirk on his face as he assumed the conventional attack position; arms raised in front of his chest, hands flattened, feet shoulder-width apart and ready to deliver a quick karate chop, or dive out of the way. He grinned as Gabriel did the same, knowing the shorter man wouldn't have as much of a reach as him, but Gabriel was wiry and if defying the laws of physics meant he didn't get hit, he was game for it.

Gabriel's eyes were like lasers on him, full of the grave seriousness of their situation as demon and Archangel faced each other off. Then, Gabriel struck, silently, and Crowley just managed to dodge away as Gabriel's palm skirted past his shoulder, deflected.

"Elbow," he informed Gabriel smugly, smiling as the Archangel's face twisted in dissatisfaction, but Gabriel nodded, and then stillness descended over the pair again, and Crowley struck, aiming for the back of Gabriel's thigh that was stretched out behind him for balance.

The demon's palm may or may not have ignored the fact that Gabriel dodged, having not even been actually aiming there, and ended up slapping the Archangel on the ass playfully instead.

Gabriel jumped, but otherwise stayed in position perfectly, throwing Crowley a glare over his shoulder. He twisted, managing to bring the side of his hand down against Crowley's forearm. The demon yelped as they both relaxed and stepped away, that round over. He rubbed his forearm, doing his best pout, and Gabriel grinned as he leaned forward and flicked his shoulder lightly. The demon was quick, grabbing onto Gabriel's fingers and pulling him close so that Gabriel was flush against Crowley's body, breath driven out of him with a soft 'oof'.

Crowley grinned, brushing some of Gabriel's fallen hair from his face and smug about how Gabriel's breath hitched, his pupils dilated, and then the demon gave him a swift tap to the back of his thigh, stepping away with another laugh.

"One-one, love," he purred when Gabriel scowled at him, mock angry.

"Cheater," Gabriel snapped back, petulantly.

Crowley merely shrugged and smiled, conceding the point – "I'm a demon, love" – and then proceeded to strike again. The two were interrupted at the turning of a key in the motel room door that Dean had been renting out, and both realizing too late that they were kind of meant to be helping Sam out with research.

…That wasn't what they were doing.

Dean stopped, eyes narrowed in suspicion as he observed the two, take-out and a few files tucked under his arm, keys in his free hand. "Um…aren't you meant to be working?" he asked, half-wary because he still hadn't quite gotten over the kill-you-dead-several-times thing Gabriel had going and he still didn't trust that Crowley actually wanted to help them stop Lucifer. "What are you doing?"

"Playing 'Ninja'," Gabriel replied matter-of-factly, as though that was the most normal thing to do.

Dean blinked, an image of Crowley and Gabriel decked out in black karate outfits with samurai swords and Chinese death stars coming to his mind, then he promptly shuddered and pushed the thought away before his traitorous and sadistic mind could put those two in his head next to the Impala. "What's 'Ninja'?" he asked absently, setting his food and files down.

"A game," Gabriel replied again, shifting when he noticed that out of the corner of his eye Crowley had taken position again – he wasn't about to get blind-sided. "You try and get the other out by getting their forearms or thighs."

Dean raised his eyebrow, but neither man noticed.

"We should make this more interesting," Crowley purred, and Gabriel grinned, and Dean had just enough time to wonder what the hell _that _meant before demon and Archangel were gone in a disturbance of wind and the sound of feathers, and he was left alone to finally do some _work._

…Casa Erotica it is then.

* * *

><p>"Loser bottoms," Crowley said with a grin as he side-stepped Gabriel's attack, his feet a little uneven on the sandy dunes of the Sahara desert. Gabriel scowled, but nodded, accepting the challenge as he parried Crowley's answering attack with his hand, keeping the vulnerable 'kill zone' away from his touch.<p>

Crowley moved to attack again, but Gabriel had disappeared. The demon laughed and followed him.

The Archangel was on top of the Empire State Building (because there are some clichés that never get old) and was taken by surprise when Crowley leapt up the side of the building, trying to attack him from below. Gabriel jumped up and flew backwards, hitting the spire and parrying again when Crowley followed after his defensive move, aiming for his legs. Gabriel jumped and disappeared again.

"Cowa-!" Crowley's shout was cut off when he had to lean abruptly to one side and avoid Gabriel's swift chop that skated right past his face and down his side. The motion cut off when Gabriel followed it off with another swipe that missed, and Crowley promptly disappeared again, willing himself to the Sydney Harbor Bridge.

Which, as it turns out, doesn't have that many places to actually _stand. _Pipes and girders criss-crossed the whole thing and Crowley waited with narrowed eyes and still body for Gabriel to show up. He kept waiting, unnerved by the stillness, and as soon as he heard the muffled sound of ruffled feathers he whirled around, disappearing before Gabriel could land his blow.

"Stupid -!" Gabriel growled, and then flew after the demon, intent on winning 'cause he sure as hell wasn't bottoming. Again.

They ended up on the top of the Himalayan Plateau when the game finally stopped.

Footing was loose, the mountains covered with snow and a storm was still raging, though neither Gabriel nor Crowley noticed. They only acknowledged it as physical reactions their vessels had – raised hairs, goose bumps, shivering. But they weren't actually cold – they couldn't feel it.

The scene was quite epic, if Gabriel does say so himself; demon and Archangel grappling, Gabriel's wings extending as he became so focused on the game that he let them go, and Crowley grinned, his eyes sliding into black as he kept parrying, attacking, dodging and parrying again, both of them getting closer as their breath misted in the air around them and their clothes were soaked through with snow and falling, driven ice and rain.

Crowley smiled, swiping his foot through the snow drifts and felling Gabriel, quick to pin the Archangel with his body and dark soul, pressing up against Gabriel's Grace like an affectionate cat. He took Gabriel's hands in his own, pinning the smaller man down, and grinned in triumph when Gabriel stopped struggling against him, collapsing into the cold snow with a breathless laugh.

"Dirty move," he said, narrowing his eyes playfully at Crowley, who just shrugged again and leaned down, claiming his lover's mouth in a slow kiss. Gabriel just looked too beautiful – his vessel's cheeks flushed from cold, clothes plastered to his lithe body from the rain and hair windswept and thrown from their battle, and he moaned low in the back of his throat when Gabriel parted his lips and slid his tongue into the demon's mouth, dominant and claiming despite his relatively submissive position.

Crowley tasted like sulfur and iron, like blood and heat, and Gabriel had long ago learned to love that taste when the demon and he had first met, eons ago. He arched his body against the demon's reveling in that warmth that he allowed his vessel to feel, and enjoying the way Crowley's frame blocked him from the worst of the wind and the rain.

The demon couldn't protect his wings, though. The feathers were ruffled, Gabriel shivering from the brushes of ice against his Grace. He curled them as close to himself as he could, but from the pay he was pinned, that meant it wasn't very much, and they were still very exposed.

"Can we take this somewhere else?" he breathed against the demon's jaw when Crowley broke away, panting heavily and eyes flat black. Crowley seemed to read Gabriel's thoughts, looking to his lover's wings as he connected the dots together, then he nodded.

Gabriel closed his eyes, unused to the method of demon travel that Crowley always used – it felt too…abrupt, and confining – and opened them again to find himself on top of a _different _mountain, this time only lightly dusted with snow and definitely _not _with a snowstorm raging around it.

He asked where they were, sitting up and smiling when Crowley let him, the demon sitting back on his heels. Crowley looked around; "Mount Kuji. I thought Japan was suitable."

Gabriel laughed, shaking his head. "Dork," he said affectionately, brushing some of Crowley's rain-plastered hair away from his face. He launched forward, sending both of them tumbling as he kissed Crowley again, laughing into the demon's mouth when both of them fought to be on top, pushing and rolling against each other and around the mountain. Finally Gabriel got on top, straddling his lover's chest as he laughed and carded his fingers through Crowley's hair, making it stick up every which-way, and grinned in victory. "Hey there."

"Hello yourself," Crowley all-but-purred back, hands running up Gabriel's thighs and pressing in, so they spread just a little wider and Gabriel fell back so his ass was perfectly lined up against Crowley's cock. The demon's hand brushed over Gabriel at the same time that he bucked up, making the Archangel moan loudly. Gabriel threw his head back, clenching his jaw tightly – something that Crowley had been delighted to discover he did when he was incredibly turned on. On top of that, a turned-on Gabriel is a lot easier to work with. The demon pulled Gabriel down by the curling, drying hairs at the back of his neck, sealing their lips together as he bucked and rolled them around again so that he was pinning Gabriel down, and his hands immediately busied themselves ridding Gabriel of his soaking clothes that clung to him like a second skin.

Gabriel's vessel shivered at each inch of skin that was exposed as Crowley unbuttoned his shirt, still kissing him, gently fucking his mouth with his tongue, and Gabriel drew his knees up, framing Crowley's hips. His hands curled into Crowley's hair, holding the demon's head down so he couldn't pull away.

The demon growled, impatient with all the fiddly buttons, and settled on just ripping Gabriel's shirt from his body. The Archangel chuckled against his lips, ruining the kiss with his smile, but didn't comment, and sat up when Crowley pushed the arms and tattered remains of the torso off Gabriel's body, letting it fall as a semi-blanket against the ground. Gabriel laid back against it, his wings unfurling again as Crowley petted through them, soothing the feathers within his reach to their right place. Gabriel felt a shiver run down his spine and leaned back again, humming low in his throat when Crowley moved his mouth from Gabriel's lips to his throat, sucking a love bite at the pulse.

Gabriel swatted at his head playfully; "That better not leave a mark," he warned without much heat. Crowley chuckled and the Archangel swore, feeling it at his neck when Crowley bit down in retribution, and that would _definitely _bruise. Damn it.

Crowley petted down his flanks, easily negotiating the button and fly of Gabriel's jeans, and he slid them down far enough to grab a hold of Gabriel's erection – his Archangel, true to form, had gone commando.

With a muffled swear, Gabriel arched into the demon's warm fist as Crowley stroked along that silky heat, his mouth still worrying the skin of Gabriel's neck until there wouldn't just be a mark – there'd be a great purple _bruise _there, that Gabriel wouldn't be able to hide through clothing, and he wouldn't will it away because Crowley's marks meant too much to him.

"_Damn it, _Crowley," Gabriel hissed, when Crowley's thumb ran over the slit, nail just digging in enough to feel, not to cause pain – "Fucking…_shit." _His words were lost in a gasp at the painful _squeeze _Crowley gave him for his trouble, the bastard laughing against his skin, dampening with sweat.

"Something on your mind, love?" he asked, smug.

Gabriel all-but-snarled at him, clutching at the demon's shoulders with his arms, and at his hips with his legs, trying to buck up against him. "Get your fucking clothes off, right now." Crowley chuckled, but obliged with a smirk, and his clothes were suddenly gone. Gabriel huffed; "Why do you always insist on doing me _the human way?" _His last words may or may have been lost in a squeak as Crowley twisted his hand, jerking Gabriel off harshly. It may have happened, but Gabriel won't admit it if it did.

"Because you _love _the human way," Crowley replied, snarky and snappish, as he finally stopped biting at Gabriel and pushed himself up, hovering over the smaller man and positioning himself, guiding himself in – no prep, because Gabriel is an Archangel and Crowley is a demon and they don't bother with things like that because they don't feel the pain the way people do. Gabriel mewled at Crowley, relaxing and letting the demon in, blinking lust-dilated hazel eyes into solid black. Crowley released a long breath when he bottomed out inside of Gabriel – it had been too freaking long.

Well? What? A day is long to some people.

Demons.

…Yeah.

He gave an experimental little rock of his hips, eliciting moans from both of them as Gabriel arched desperately, trying to find that perfect angle for Crowley to hit his prostate. When he found it his wings shuddered, twitching against the grassy mountain plateau Crowley had taken them to. The demon growled, knowing neither of them were going to last long, as he picked up a harsh, fast rhythm full of strong strokes that went deep into Gabriel, and the Archangel was a writhing mess underneath the demon, moaning and begging and probably saying all kinds of meaningful and emotional things that, to be honest, he'll deny again.

Crowley reared back, grabbing onto Gabriel's thighs as he fucked into the Archangel, and Gabriel arched with a shout, yelling at Crowley to shut his eyes before he exploded. If his wings weren't already out, they would have flown outwards to his sides at that point as Gabriel erupted, coming without being touched since entry, and spilling all over his stomach. Crowley growled, his fingers digging tight enough to bruise into Gabriel's thighs as he stilled, coming into Gabriel soon after, driven over the edge by the whine of Gabriel's true voice and the deliciously clenching channel surrounding his cock.

When they both came to themselves again, Crowley was bent over Gabriel, still clutching his thighs, and Gabriel had grabbed a hold of Crowley's forearm, panting against the demon's shoulder. With every exhale he shivered through aftershocks, clenching around Crowley until the demon had to pull out, oversensitive and pained. Gabriel flopped back, breathing hard as he stared at the sky for a long moment until both of them had fully recovered.

Crowley cleared his throat, looking at where his hand was. "I think I won," he noted absently, lightly.

Gabriel laughed, sitting up and gave a little squeeze of Crowley's forearm, holding it up in front of the demon's face. "Oh really?"

"I was here first, love," Crowley replied with a smile. Gabriel raised an eyebrow and Crowley sighed, rolling his eyes. "You know what I mean."

"Whatever," Gabriel replied, slithering into Crowley's lap and kissing the demon lightly, chastely, his wings curling around himself as he turned, sitting so that he could admire the view, his demon's warm back against his spine. Crowley's fingers entwined into his feathers, stroking slowly and Gabriel shivered lightly. "We should teach Dean and Castiel to play 'Ninja'. Maybe they'd finally get it together and have sex."

Crowley laughed.


	18. Spirit Ain't Got Nothin' On Me

**Title:** Spirit Ain't Got Nothin' On Me  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-15  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** Dean/Castiel, mentions of Castiel/OFCs  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> AU  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> language…horse!boys?  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> ~2,300  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Nothing, it seems, can calm the strawberry roan stallion down – when the yard workers go to the manager, asking for advice, he just laughs and says 'It's 'cause Cas is back, you idjits'. There's not much they can do about that.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Even though it's not earth_heart's fault, I'm still blaming him because he refused to discourage me when I started talking about gay horse sex. Sully86, too, is guilty. *headdesk* So, yeah, it's their faults. :P But there's no actual sex! YAY I'm still somewhat normal! Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own.

* * *

><p>As soon as he hears the rumble of the horse trailer, the small strawberry roan stallion in the farthest stall starts kicking up a hell of a fuss. Nothing, it seems, can calm him down – when the yard workers go to the manager, asking for advice, he just laughs and says 'It's 'cause Cas is back, you idjits'.<p>

There's not much they can do about that.

The trailer backs into the stable yard, surrounded on all sides by stalls, but 'Win's stall is facing away, towards one of the exercise rings, so he can't see the trailer. He knows it's there though; can smell the other stallion from miles away. He squeals in indignation, kicking at his door violently, rearing as much as the low roof will allow, and whinnies, loud and high-pitched. His nostrils are flared, delicate flesh curling around the air as he tries to get more of the other stallion's scent, and snorts, pawing at the door again.

The trailer doors open, and a stallion is lead out with a lead rope attached to a head collar. Cas is a pretty docile horse, considering that he isn't gelded, and rarely do the handlers have any trouble leading him. But the stallion's ears perk up, hearing the outraged cries of the other horse, and he snorts, dipping his head.

Bobby laughs, imagining that the horse is rolling his eyes.

"Youth, eh?" he asks, clapping Cas on the shoulder, and the horse just snorts again, shaking his mane out to get rid of dust. He takes the lead rope and guides Cas over to hard standing, and to do that he has to lead the horse past the exercise ring. 'Win's cries abruptly fall silent – when Bobby looks over, he can see the horse stretching his head out through the upper half of his door, head lifted high, upper lip curled back as though he is scenting a mare in heat.

He shakes his head and continues leading the horse, unhooking the lead rope and closing the gate behind him when Cas shakes his head once more, trotting with a high tail over to the hay bales and happily starts munching away.

'Win' squeals again, banging on his door, his ears perking up when Bobby turns to look at him. The horse's eyes are bright and wide, a dark brown color, and his nostrils are flared in excitement. Bobby shakes his head and goes over to stroke Dean's nose.

"I know you've missed him," he says fondly, scratching between the young stallion's ears and earning a nip on the arm for his trouble, "but you've still got to exercise, young man. As soon as the trainer's done with ya, you can go out. Sound good?"

Bobby knows, logically, that horses can't really understand. But with one blink of his long lashes, and a bob of his head, Bobby thinks 'Win' might just have agreed with his deal.

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes at his own thoughts, and heads back to the office.

* * *

><p>Cas' ears perk up when he hears the sound of a gate being unlocked, and an excited snort from the far end of the ring. He lifts his head, still lazily munching on some grass, and sees 'Win', being led out of his stable, already saddled and bridled for exercise.<p>

The stallion really is beautiful; his neck is strong and thick, arching up beautifully from his shoulders; his legs are long and strong despite their relatively delicate-seeming build. His mane has been cropped short, so it falls just to one side in a neat style that has Cas thinking Dean must have been in a competition recently. The horse was bred for jumping, with his powerful hindquarters and long legs.

'Win' walks proudly, his head held high as the rider pulls herself up into the saddle, pulling the reins taut so that his mouth is stretched back and his head is forced to arch up further. He walks forward a couple of steps, nostrils flaring slightly wider at the shift in weight on his back, and then halts obediently, waiting for her to get her feet in the stirrups and seat herself properly.

With a click of her mouth and a tug on the reins, she turns 'Win' towards the exercise ring which, Cas sees, has been set up for a course. The jumps are very high and the older stallion shakes his head, snorting at some of them – the oxer on his side, especially, seems pretty daunting, but 'Win' is all coiled energy ready to spring, eager youth and ambition – he attacks the jumps, Cas knows, and flies over them. He's a little headstrong and hard to control but that doesn't really seem to matter, 'cause it's not like he misses.

The rider leads 'Win' down the center of the ring, letting him get a look at all of the jumps and gauge their height. She leads him down the side of the ring where Cas is standing, and the horse snorts, leaning down to lip at his friend through the gate before the rider tuts warningly and pulls him back up.

Cas snorts again, tail flicking at flies, and goes back to eating grass.

The rider urges 'Win' up into a canter, the stallion starting to breathe more heavily as he's forced to take on the clipped stride, when Cas knows he would much rather just _run_. That's why cross-country is more 'Win's sport.

She leads him up to the first jump and he hops it like it's nothing. The play of 'Win's muscles through his body is almost mesmerizing, how powerful his legs are, the small freedom of being airborne and then slamming back down to the ground. His dainty, pale-colored hooves stir up dust when he turns sharply – able to turn on a dime, this horse, Bobby had said. They'd have made him a barrel racer if he was built more like a quarter horse.

'Win' starts picking up the pace, eager to be over and done with this, and practically gallops down the straight, through the triple combination. His strides are too big but that doesn't really matter because his jumps are too – he makes a two-stride out of a four-stride gap, but he figures as long as he gets over the damned things he shouldn't really matter.

At this point, the rider is just gritting her teeth and hanging on; 'Win' hasn't been exercised in a while; this is to be expected. By the time they are finished, and she has worked him enough that his head is starting to droop and she has to really nudge him to get him to go anywhere, 'Win's beautiful light coat is matted and dark with sweat. The strawberry roan looks more like a bay now.

Cas' nostrils flare, watching when the younger stallion is led from the ring and untacked, and wetted down. The day is relatively warm so they don't worry about him getting too cold, and then 'Win's head tosses when a lead rope is attached to his halter, ears flattening to his head and a low whinny rumbling in his chest. He backs up from the rider, thinking she is about to lead him back to his stall, trying to get towards the hard standing field.

She laughs. "I know, Win," she says, rubbing his face affectionately. "I was gonna give you some oats, but if you'd rather say 'Hi' then that's fine." She turns around, leading 'Win' towards the hard standing field, and Cas lifts his head, nickering in greeting, and trots over to the gate. She has to push it into his chest to get him to move, and 'Win' eagerly trots in, barely able to stand still enough for her to get the lead rope unhooked before he's over by Cas' side, whickering softly in happy greeting, and butting his head against the stallion's flanks.

"Have fun, boys," she says, waving with a smile, and turns and walks away. 'Win' immediately whinnies, grabbing his friend's attention, and nips at his rump.

They are the only two stallions that the barn owns, and so they get this field all to themselves.

"Hi," the roan murmurs, rubbing his head along Cas' neck. The paint stallion snorts in amusement, bi-colored tail flicking at 'Win's hind legs softly, swatting him as though he were a persistent fly.

"Hello, Dean," he replies, snorting in amusement, his ears flicking forward as he rears his head back, backing up so that he can nip at Dean's shoulder, and then starts walking away, knowing Dean will follow him. "Did you miss me?"

If horses could blush, Dean would be. "Yeah, I did," he says, head low to the ground as he trots to catch up, tail held high in the air. He presses his cheek against his friend's flank again. "You smell like mares," he complains.

"I was taken away for stud, Dean – you know what that means," the paint replies coolly, making Dean's ears flatten slightly. The younger stallion rumbles in discontent, and Castiel sighs. "I know, but it's just for a while longer."

"I don't like it," Dean mutters, ears still flattened to his skull. He beats at the ground with a foreleg in irritation, tossing his head. "That you have to go fuck all those mares. That I don't get to see you for days at a time because of it. Fuckin' _hate _it."

Castiel stops, then, one ear flicking towards Dean as the stallion fixes his ice-blue eye on him. The other is brown. "Jealous, colt?" he asks, snorting in amusement when Dean just nips at him, squealing in anger. He rears up, mounting the other stallion, biting at his long, unkempt mane so that Castiel can't buck him off.

"Fuckin' show _you_ jealous," he says.

The paint squeals in anger, tossing his head and bucking at Dean's hindlegs, weary from exercise, and Dean's slippery coat allows him to simply fall off of the other stallion, and Castiel bites him, hard, on the withers, kicking at Dean's soft underbelly, and Dean has no choice but to flee, squealing again in anger, his ears still flat.

Castiel chases him, biting at Dean's flanks whenever the younger horse slows down. "Presumptuous colt," he hisses, ears flat back against his head in anger, nostrils flared, jaws parted to bite. He rears up, striking at the air around Dean's head, and Dean ducks his head down, side-stepping and snorting uneasily, baring his flank to Castiel to show his submission. The paint stallion calms, slightly, ears flicking, and presses his muzzle to Dean's flank, sniffing at the younger stallion's scent, able to smell his submission. Satisfied, Castiel whickers softly, tail lazily flicking at Dean's shoulder.

The younger's stallion shivers slightly, dislodging the flies, and steps away from the press of Castiel's muzzle from the vulnerable area between his legs, able to feel the stallion's warm breath on his sheath. Instead, he nips at Castiel's withers, scratching the older horse's withers and neck as a kind of peace offering. Castiel rumbles softly again, repaying the favor, and Dean lets out a quiet, contented sound when Castiel's teeth find a good spot, the horse's eyes going half-lidded from tiredness and satisfaction.

"When you have won competitions," Castiel says, breaking the silence, "and earned a title for yourself, you too will leave the stable for days and come back reeking of in-season mares."

Dean snorts, ears flattening slightly, and bites Castiel's shoulder for that. The older horse whinnies and kicks out at Dean, sending them fleeing from each other, only to circle around and come back, the momentary spat forgotten.

"You know I'm right," Castiel insists.

"Yeah, but I don't have to like it," Dean replies, baring his teeth and snapping his jaws in anger. "I don't have to fuck them if I don't want to. I have a choice."

Castiel rolls his bright blue eye, snorting at Dean's naïveté, and tosses his head, making his mane fall on the other side of his neck. "You won't make it far if you refuse to breed, Dean. They'll end up gelding you."

Dean blanches. "I'll get away before then."

Castiel rolls his eyes once more. "I'm serious, Cas," Dean insists, nipping at his friend's neck. "We can do it – come with me. I don't want to stay here; I can never run enough here. Everything's so…_controlled_." He spits the word. "I wanna go, out there, and run forever, and just…Just the two of us." His ears flicker around uneasily at his friend's silence. "Don't you want that?"

"Truthfully?" The paint heaves a huge breath, his belly heaving with the large around of air. "Yes. But we'll get caught, Dean, and then who knows what will happen." He lowers his head, picking absently at a few blades of grass. "I prefer certainty."

Dean snorts in anger, ears flattening. "Foolish old man," he says, disgusted, and tosses his head, turning away from Castiel, trotting away from him and out towards the furthest end of the field from the stables. Outside the field, there is just wide-open space; they're in the middle of nowhere, the best part of nowhere, and Dean knows that if he managed to get out, somehow, he could run, and they wouldn't be able to catch him.

He thinks, if they train him to get a _little_ higher, he could easily clear the fence.

He hears the soft crunch of stones and grass underhoof, and turns around to see Castiel approaching him. His ears flatten and he bares his teeth in warning at the other stallion, tail lashing at him angrily. "Go away."

Castiel just turns at ear in his direction, joining Dean in staring out into the wildness, eyes half-lidded. "I don't think you'll manage it," he says, earning an annoyed rumble from the younger horse, "but if you do, don't leave me behind, okay?"

Dean blinks, dark eyes flashing. Then, he sighs heavily, and presses his muzzle against Castiel's. "Okay, Cas. I promise."


	19. Just Pull The Trigger

**Title:** Just Pull The Trigger  
><strong>Author:<strong>**highermagic**  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** demon!Dean/human!Castiel  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None. AU.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> character death, gun!play, blood  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~1,200  
><strong>Summary: <strong>"Take a breath. Take it deep. Calm yourself."  
><strong> Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. RANDOM DARK!FIC IS RANDOM. Dialogue and title stolen from 'Russian Roulette' by Rihanna.

* * *

><p>"Take a breath," he whispers, a slow, dark smile curving his full mouth, making small lines form at the corners of his eyes. He picks up the six-shooter, spinning the chambers with another small smile, eyes flashing in dark lust as he listens to the slow, rhythmic clicking of the gun.<p>

It's a beautiful weapon – sleek, silver, black-handled. The hand that's wrapped around it is strong, belongs to a fighter, someone who's good with his hands. Long fingers pet over the barrel, a thumb pulls back the hammer. He flashes dark eyes up at the other man, sitting across from him at the table, and sets the gun down, pointing towards him. "Take it deep."

Pale, shaking fingers reach out towards the gun. He's scared – he's fucking terrified, and it just makes the other man purr in pleasure, eyes going half-lidded and heavy with the scent of fear in the air, thick at the back of his throat like honey.

"Calm yourself." Bright blue eyes zero in on his face, full lips pressing together in anxiety as long, pale fingers close around the handle of the gun and he slowly pulls it towards himself. There's sweat on his hands and it's marring the shine of the gun, and the other man's expression twists in dissatisfaction, but the fear is so strong he can _taste_ it, and he lets it go.

Blue-eyes swallows, the sound loud in the otherwise silent room. His fingers are trembling so hard he can hardly touch the gun, his breathing is heavy and fast. The demon's lips curl up again in a smile. "Say a prayer to yourself," he suggests, and chuckles at the brief flare of defiance and anger, that such a creature would _dare_ to suggest something like that to him.

His voice gets lower, raspy, as he sees blue-eyes finally pick up the gun, holding it too tightly like he's afraid it will turn to sand in his grip. Or perhaps willing the gun to disappear. "Close your eyes," the demon whispers, low and raspy like whiskey and the burn of a cigarette. He receives a questioning look for it, and lifts one shoulder in a shrug. "Sometimes it helps."

It's spoken with derision – he doesn't care whether it 'helps' or not. He knows this in the slow roll of dread down his spine.

Lashes flutter down to kiss pale cheeks, before his eyes open again, revealing bright blue irises and pupils contracted from fear. "How many times have you played this game?" he asks, amazed that his voice doesn't shake, when it feels like he can barely keep his grip on the gun.

The demon's eyes flash black and he bares teeth in his smile. "Enough."

Tears are beginning to gather in those blue eyes; he's so afraid, his hands are shaking so much. Stoic, resigned, he presses the cold end of the gun to the underside of his jaw, and closes his eyes.

The echoing click of an empty chamber being fired is enough to make him break down in a sob. He places the gun down, relief obvious in the very set of his shoulders, how his entire being seems to have deflated. His heart is beating incredibly quickly, his breathing ragged and labored.

The demon smiles at him, lazy and smug, and hooks his fingers into the handle of the gun, sliding it with a soft metallic sound towards him. He picks it up, holds it like a lover and lost friend. The trembling man thinks he can hear the weapon fairly hum under the touch of its master as the demon lifts it to his temple, and the empty click is deafening.

Blue-eyes bites his lip, staring at the gun again as it's slid back towards him with an eager, excited smile. He had hoped…He sighs, picking up the gun. His hands are shaking even worse now, anxiety building up like something blocking his chest, making it impossible to breathe or think past the feeling of the cold metal under his fingertips and the knowledge that this chamber could be the one with the bullet in it.

"Calm yourself," the demon whispers, lust and pleasure shining in his dark green eyes, teeth flashing in his smile as his full lips part. He crosses his arms, leaning his elbows on the table, shoulders hunched forward so he can see the tilt of blue-eyes' jaw – like he wants to see when the bullet pierces his flesh and ends his life.

Blue-eyes takes another deep breath, fingers wiggling around the trigger, before he lifts the gun and presses it to his jaw. "Castiel," he says.

The demon blinks. "What?"

"My name," the man replies, opening his eyes and meeting the demon's. "It's Castiel."

The demon's expression smoothes out in understanding, and he smiles again. "A pretty name for a pretty face," he purrs, one corner of his mouth quirking up higher than the other. He cocks his head to one side, raising a brow. "I suppose you want to know mine now, too?"

The man swallows. "If I'm about to die."

The demon lifts one shoulder in a shrug, licking his lips before he meets the man's eyes again. "Dean," he says, and Castiel nods, biting his lip, before he pulls the trigger.

The gunshot rings out loudly and he slumps forward, gun clattering noisily to the ground as it falls from his limp hand. His head thumps on the table, blood pooling out in a sick puddle on the smooth surface and Dean watches with avid interest as the dark crimson stain spreads outward. He smiles, reaching forward, and coats two of his fingers in the blood, raising them to his lips.

"See?" he says to the corpse. "That wasn't so bad." Then, his hand forms a gun, aiming at the dead man with the blood-coated fingers, and pretends to fire.

Castiel gasps heavily, his eyes flaring open as he chokes. The bullet hole in his head has closed over and healed as though it was never there, and he grasps at his throat, sitting up and taking a deep breath as though he has been slowly drowning and only recently been let up for air. There's blood smeared down his neck, staining his white shirt and his hand as he grasps his throat, feeling his pulse fly again under his skin.

"I…" He looks with wide eyes to the demon. "I don't understand."

Dean chuckles, cocking his head to one side. He waves his hand and the gun reappears. "Sweetheart, did you think I would let you go so easily?" he purrs, eyes flashing black again, briefly. Castiel gulps when Dean loads another bullet, spinning the barrel, and pulling back the hammer again. He sets the gun down in the pool of blood. "We're just getting started."

Castiel's eyes widen and he looks disbelievingly at the demon. His lips part to argue and Dean's eyes flash in readiness, in pleasure. He bares his teeth in a low snarl. The human swallows again, wide eyes set on the gun, and his fingers shake again when he reaches forward to caress the handle with a soft touch.

"Pull the trigger," Dean whispers, and Castiel's eyes rise to meet the demon's, black and menacing. He swallows again, lifts the gun, and does.

The next time he dies, Dean brings him back with a kiss.

* * *

><p>ALMOST TO THE END OF THE RANDOM FIC DUMP. HUSSAH.<p> 


	20. I Need You, You Don't Need Me

**Title:** I Need You, You Don't Need Me  
><strong>Author: <strong>highermagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** Dean/Castiel  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> 6x21 for safety  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> angst, sex  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~  
><strong>Summary: <strong>He has to leave soon. He can already feel the tugs on his Grace that are his subordinates summoning him back to the field of battle, needing to fight and plan and lead the new onslaught against Raphael.

**Notes:** Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. I have…no idea. I wanted to write angst and then it was like 'HEA' so I just…had to, I guess. Too tired. *headdesk*

* * *

><p>Warm fingers curl around Castiel wrist as he pulls out, sated, worn, his entire vessel seems to throb with the deep-seated contentment in his Grace, having spent another night pleasing and praising his Hunter. Warm, vibrant green eyes stare into his and Castiel smiles, leaning down, pressing their mouths together gently and brushing a hand through Dean's sweat-damp hair.<p>

He has to leave soon. He can already feel the tugs on his Grace that are his subordinates summoning him back to the field of battle, needing to fight and plan and lead the new onslaught against Raphael. His very Grace burns with anger over the fact that he needs to be in Heaven anymore at all. Didn't he earn his freedom – didn't he earn his 'more of the same'?

It's not his place to question. He moves from the warmth of Dean's bed and the allure of Dean's body, straightening and letting the kiss end.

Dean can see in his face that he must leave. The Hunter lets out a breath and smiles behind sad jade eyes. "Go on, Cas, it's okay," he says, and rolls over, pulling the covers around himself.

It's not okay. Not even close. But Castiel leaves, because he has no other choice – if he does not appear, then others will come looking for him.

He has no choice.

* * *

><p>Dean doesn't pretend he's not happy to see Castiel – his entire <em>being<em> seems to ache for the Angel's touch. He feels like someone trying to quit smoking, strung out until they can get their next fix. His addiction to the Angel is damn near debilitating at times, when they're trying to hunt or sort out the epic fuck-up that is the world right now, and all he can think about is Castiel, when he'll get to see him next. It makes him whiney, petulant like a child, and it scares him; how much he _needs_.

He tries to distance himself – keep their meetings formal and friendly. But it makes him angry – it makes him so _unbelievably_ angry. Who is this Angel, what gives him the _right_, to make Dean need him so badly? When did it become _okay_ to take over Dean's every thought – to become the tail-end of his sigh or the only thing he can dream of now that doesn't have him breaking out in a cold sweat and waking up with his throat hoarse from screaming?

It slips out – the _need_ for Castiel. He can't last more than five minutes in the room without his frustration building up; he called Castiel for help but he ends up yelling at him, threatening him, wanting to _hurt_ him for making Dean feel so hurt, so abandoned.

_What gives you the fucking right?_ he wants to snarl. But he doesn't. He just swallows back whatever he's feeling and grits his teeth and trudges on.

* * *

><p>He needs to cut back.<p>

The next few nights when he is alone and there is nothing left to do but call Cas and pray he has the time to see him, Dean comes to a realization. He's…pulling Cas down. There's no need – he doesn't _need_ Dean. Castiel does not need Dean – he has Dean here because he considers him a friend. It's like soldiers who go to a field of battle together and then, five years later, are only still friends because of that shared experience. Dean is still living in the year of Hell where the Apocalypse was just around the corner, but Castiel is not in that year anymore. He's an Archangel – a fucking powerful one too, strong enough to stand against Raphael who's a badass mofo if Dean's ever met one.

He refuses to call Cas, to touch him, to talk to him when he feels the Angel buzzing on the edges of his consciousness, just waiting for him to call, to know that the coast is clear and he can come see Dean. Dean refuses to think about the Angel, and has nightmares about Hell and the Devil for the first time in what should feel like forever.

* * *

><p>"Don't touch me."<p>

He bares his teeth in anger, wrenching his arm away from Castiel's grip. The Angel's sad, confused azure eyes feel like they're burning him. He can _taste_ Castiel's desire and relief to be here, in the back of his throat, and it makes him feel like a monster.

"Dean -." He takes a step forward and before Dean's even thinking about it, his fist is flying. It's gonna hurt him more than it hurts Castiel, he knows that. There's the crack of his fingers striking unyielding flesh. Castiel's face snaps to the side and Dean's mildly surprised to see that he's actually left a mark; his hand still hurts like a motherfucker, throbbing and he's probably broken a couple fingers, but…there's a thin trail of blood from Castiel's split lip, running down his chin.

_I did that_.

"Shit," he whispers, backing away from the Angel again as though fearing all the wrath of Heaven will rain down on him now. Castiel's eyes snap up to him, wide and almost incredulous, and Dean swallows, biting his lower lip, torn between wanting to patch up his friend and – dare he say it – _lover_, and wanting to just hit him again. "Cas, I -."

"Why did you do that?" Pale, shaking fingertips touch the bleeding lip and, like it was never there, the wound is gone. Dean blinks, swallowing again. His throat feels like it's too tight to speak. Castiel's brow furrows. "I don't understand."

"You need to stay away from me," Dean whispers. He feels tears gathering at the corners of his eyes and forces himself not to let them fall – he can hold them back, swallow them down like he has everything else. It's just one more thing he never can and never will talk about. "I'm not…" He pauses, and then gestures between them. His injured hand throbs when he moves it and he hisses in pain. "We're not good for each other, Cas."

Castiel cocks his head to one side, eyes narrowed in thought. Then, his lips thin out, and it appears that he has come to a decision. "Very well." With a flutter of wings, he's gone. It feels like the strings that had kept Dean upright have been snapped and the Hunter sags to the bed, cradling his head in his uninjured hand. When he feels like his vision isn't too blurry to see, he patches up his fingers and tells Sam some guys got too friendly with a girl and he stepped in like the white knight to defend her. Doesn't matter whether Sam believes him or not.

He feels like there are blue eyes staring into the back of his head wherever he goes.

* * *

><p>"We can still fix this, Cas," Dean begs, <em>pleads<em> with his friend, his brother, his comrade, to understand – to see what he's doing and how _wrong _it is.

"Don't you understand, Dean?" Castiel replies, a snarl tailing his words. "Nothing's broken."

The words seem to strike something in Dean – he can only stare, disbelieving, at Castiel's angry eyes. He's _angry_, he's _furious_. And Dean doesn't know what makes him do it, but he straightens up, looking to where Sam is still standing by the door, ready to run. He can hear the low whistle of hordes of demons coming to help Castiel or do whatever.

Green eyes flash to his little brother, and he heads towards Sam. "Get out of here," he whispers, pushing at Sam until, despite his protests, he goes. Then, Dean looks back towards Castiel, standing in the circle of flames.

Castiel straightens when Dean returns to his side, jaw clenching, fingers flexing slightly by his sides. "Why aren't you running?" he asks, voice carefully neutral though Dean knows he must be able to sense the many demons circling and hemming them in.

"I don't…" He trails off, swallowing, knowing he can't say a damned thing.

Castiel's eyes narrow. "You pushed me away," he accuses.

Dean swallows, but there's a twist to his mouth that speaks of anger. "We both know I can't push you into anything, Castiel. You're a fucking Angel." Something flashes across Castiel's eyes, there and gone too quickly for Dean to identify. "Just call it off," Dean whispers, begging one last time.

"How would you have me defeat Raphael?" the Angel murmurs, voice betraying the helplessness he feels.

Dean swallows, looking around for a moment. "I don't know," he confesses and Castiel straightens again, face becoming impassive and Dean knows he's being shoved to the side, mentally, derision evident in Castiel's expression even though there's nothing to give him away. "Maybe…damn it, Cas, try dealing with Crowley to borrow more souls, or get more Angels to your side, or _let Sam and me help you_, or…fuck, I don't know, _pray,_ but _don't_ go crackin' open a freaking nuke! You _know_ it won't end well. You _know_ what you're doing is wrong otherwise you would have told us about it."

"Just like you told Sam about you and me?" Castiel replies shortly, turning flat ocean eyes onto Dean. "Or Bobby? You have kept your secrets, Dean Winchester. I am allowed to keep mine."

"Cas." It's too late – demons have coated the windows now and there's no escape.

Crowley steps through the door, all smug swing in his step and cocky smirk. He winks at Dean who shoots him a dirty look in response and Crowley ignores him, instead going over to stand near the ring of fire around Castiel.

"Well, well, well," he murmurs, raising an eyebrow. "Winchesters made you limp?"

"Crowley," is all Castiel says in acknowledgement. Dean can only stare helplessly as the demon raises a hand, letting it sink down, and the flames sputter and die. Castiel steps out of the ring of fire safely. Then, Castiel looks at him. Takes a good, long look at him, an unfathomably long stare that Dean thinks he can feel in his very soul, and smiles slightly. "I wanted you to see this."

Dean's eyes slide downwards as Castiel's blade falls from his sleeve, into his hand, and then he turns around and presses it against Crowley's throat.

* * *

><p>Five hundred thousand souls. That is the price for Crowley's life. It is a temporary loan, but until the Reckoning the amount of souls in Heaven is nowhere near equal to that amount. Castiel wipes Heaven clean of Raphael's taint completely, along with all the supporters who were not willing to let Castiel lead the new era in Heaven.<p>

There is a lot of rebuilding to do, both in Heaven and on Earth – trusts and friendships badly fractured and entire stretches of battlefields laid to waste. Castiel still has a lot of work to do but it's getting easier.

* * *

><p>Dean takes him out for a beer after it's all done. He, Sam, and Bobby – Dean's treat, though the money was probably won through dishonest means, but Castiel's willing to let it slide. Because Dean's got his arm around Castiel's shoulders, laying claim and making a bold statement all at once, sipping at his beer more than necessary to get rid of his mild embarrassment discomfort at the looks Sam and Bobby are giving him – exasperate and relieved all at once –, and Castiel's smiling, because <em>this<em>…this is where he wants to be. Where he always thought he would end up; in the company of two brothers and an old drunk.

He sends a silent 'Thank You' up to his Father, for testing him and allowing him to pull through. It was a test of his faith and his reward was Dean's love and Sam's friendship and Bobby treating him like family.

And that feels good.

He can't imagine what would have happened if he'd succumbed, and stayed on the path that he'd chosen with Crowley and Purgatory. A slow shudder rolls down his spine, and he tries not to think about it.

"You want another?" Dean's voice pulls him out of his thoughts and Castiel fixes his lover with a soft smile.

"Yes, please, Dean," he says, and Dean smiles. His eyes flash towards Sam and Bobby at the other end of the table, and Castiel thinks he can _hear_ Dean give a mental shrug before he leans in, breath tasting of sweet beer and salty peanuts, and plants a soft, chaste kiss to Castiel's mouth. He's pulling away before the Angel can take it further, leaving him breathless and wanting.

_Yes_, Castiel thinks, watching Dean walk away for the next round, _I definitely chose right._


	21. Daddy's Boy

Daddy's Boy  
>DeanCastiel  
>NC-17<br>Daddy!kink, Graceturbation, embarrassed!Dean, toppy!Cas  
>It was written for a random prompt at the deacaskink meme - Dean calls Castiel 'Daddy' and they both get off on it. THAT IS THE ONLY REASON ALRIGHT. I do not have daddy!kink, especially in DeanCas - John/Dean's my OTP for that one. But it was in the prompt so that's what I had to do, and I think I surprised myself :D

* * *

><p>"Oh,<em> fuck."<em>

Dean bites his lower lip, head thrown back against Castiel's shoulder as the Angel snarls, nails digging in a little more harshly into Dean's flanks as he fucks into his Hunter from behind. They've been at it for hours; the room reeks of sex, and Dean's so fucking hard it hurts.

He can feel Castiel's teeth bared against the back of his neck, and when the Angel bites down he can't help how his shoulders dip, the long stretch of his back arching so his ass is pushed up higher in the air, knees spread as far as he can get them on the too-small motel bed. Dean's hands fly forward, desperately bracing himself against the headboard because, if Castiel keeps this up, Dean's gonna end up getting a concussion against the damned thing.

The leverage allows him to push back, to force Castiel to go deeper inside of him, and _fuck,_ if that doesn't start making lust flare up inside of Dean, feeling the fast, harsh drag of lubed flesh inside of him, filling him up and leaving him empty so fast he can barely keep up.

Sweat coats him like a second skin and he long ago gave up the idea that breathing is normal or necessary – he's taking what he can get, panting through a forever-open mouth and flared nostrils, head hanging down between his shoulders when Castiel rears up. One burning-hot palm is braced between Dean's shoulder blades, pushing the Hunter down further until Dean's chest is flattened against the bed, his cock hanging thick and heavy between his legs and brushing the damp, rumpled mess of what used to be the sheets.

"Cas_, harder,_ fuck me, come on," he begs, muscles tense and quivering – he's so close, but Castiel won't let him come, and with the way Castiel is fucking him he can't even try to get a hand around himself to get himself off.

Immediately the Angel slows down, hilting himself completely inside Dean and earning a low, desperate whine from the Hunter. Castiel smirks, leaning down and mouthing at the top knob of Dean's spine, licking at his sweat-damp skin and inhaling the scent of Dean, covered in sweat and come and lube and Castiel's own scent – he likes that. He_ likes_ that Dean smells like him, all fucked out and raw.

Dean clenches down around him, trying to entice him to start fucking him again, and Castiel snarls, rolling his hips against Dean's ass so there's all the fullness with none of the friction, pressing up against his mate's prostate, and Dean gasps. "Patience, boy."

He bites out the words, eyes flashing almost black because he knows how turned-on Dean gets at the idea that Castiel is so fucking powerful, he can shove Dean down and call him shit like 'boy' and Dean can't do a damned thing about it. One hand slides up Dean's slick flank, fisting a hand in the Hunter's hair and jerking his head back so that Castiel can bite on the side of his neck, earning another low moan from Dean.

"Ask me nicely," he whispers against the sweat-slick skin of Dean's neck, listening to his pulse fly. "Ask me _properly,_ Dean."

Dean whines, hips jerking forward in search of friction, and then back onto Castiel's cock to try and rock him deeper, but Castiel moves with him, refuses to give Dean an inch more than what he's already given until the Hunter asks him nicely.

For a long moment, there's only their own short, sharp breaths against each other's skin as Dean sits back slightly, arms trembling and muscles bunching under his skin, before he turns his head, dragging his open, spit-slick mouth across Castiel's jaw, and the Angel purrs, eyes going half-lidded, and pulls out.

_"Cas."_ Dean almost hisses his name, turning around to pull the Angel back to him but Castiel's already ahead of him, pulling on Dean's body and throwing him down onto his back. Before Dean can even think Castiel's got his hands under Dean's thighs, lifting him up so the Angel can slide right back in. It's so easy to thrust inside of Dean, his body loose and slick and welcoming, and Castiel's eyes roll in his head, closing as he grits his teeth and clenches his jaw.

Dean moans, arching up when Castiel's cock strikes his prostate dead-on, gripping the pillows under his head as he plants his feet and rolls his hips, trying to get Castiel to go deeper.

A hand closes around his cock and Dean shouts, caged within his orgasm by either Castiel's Grace or his hand and it doesn't fucking matter 'cause all he knows is that he's _right there_ but Castiel is refusing to let him take the final step and leap over that cliff edge.

"Cas, damn it!" he shouts, anger and desperation in his voice as he opens lust-glazed eyes to stare accusingly at Castiel.

The Angel's smile is positively wicked. "I said, ask me nicely, Dean," he replies smoothly, cocking his head to one side as he lands a particularly hard strike to Dean's prostate, his hand tightening on Dean's cock.

"Oh, _fuck,"_ Dean cries, throwing his head back, eyes clenched shut. "Please, Daddy, oh _please."_

He doesn't meant to let it slip out – it just…happens. Castiel's eyes widen at the same time Dean's flare open, realizing what he's said, but before either of them can say anything, the Angel whines, stilling inside of Dean as he comes with a choked-off sound. He falls forward, burying his face in Dean's neck and biting down, and Dean feels like he's getting mounted as Castiel fucks him through his orgasm, hand turning rough and unrelenting as he jacks Dean towards completion.

Dean cries out again, digging his nails into Castiel's sensitive shoulder blades, which makes Castiel rock more deeply into him, and comes all over the Angel's hand as he feels Castiel filling him up on the inside, burning hot.

When they've come back to themselves, Dean's cheeks are totally red from embarrassment and horror. He swallows when Castiel lifts his head, staring down at him. "I -."

Castiel shushes him with a kiss, leaning down and licking into Dean's mouth. He waits until the Hunter melts against him before pulling away. "I liked that," he says, voice rough and low and full of meaning and Dean finds himself blushing again.

"Yeah, I…" He coughs, swallowing again. "Me too."

"We should do that again," Castiel murmurs, very seriously.

Dean rolls his eyes, but can't hide his smile and relief at the words, and Castiel smiles down adoringly at him, before leaning down for another kiss.

* * *

><p>It's only a matter of time before Dean's 'we are not talking about this. Ever. I mean it. No. EVER' rule is broken.<p>

"Is it because you found John Winchester's form pleasing?"

Dean's eyes widen and he raises his head, staring open-mouthed at Castiel over the limited protection of his open laptop. Thank God Sam's not here otherwise Dean would…Dean would…. Do something.

"Oh my God," he says, putting his head in his hands and dragging his fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands, "we are not having this conversation."

Castiel's brow furrows. "Dean," he says seriously, "if you insist in bringing up _my _father in this, then I at least have the right to mention yours, considering you're the one who -."

"Jesus Christ!" Dean yells, eyes widening further as he puts his hand out in an attempt to stop Castiel. Before he can think about what he's doing, he's up from his chair and in front of the Angel, who is sitting on the bed, and plants a hand over Castiel's mouth_. "Shut up."_

Castiel's eyes narrow slightly, and Dean thinks he hears the muffled words; "And my brother, too?"

Unable to think of anything to say, Dean groans, stepping back again and ignoring how his palm seems to tingle where it was pressed against Castiel's mouth. He rubs his fingers together and tightens his mouth into a thin line. "Please, Cas," he begs, fixing his gaze on the Angel, "just let it go."

"I think it is something we should discuss, Dean." And Dean knows that voice – that is the 'I'm not backing down so just out with it' voice – Castiel learned it from Sam, Dean's sure of it. "You orgasmed from it."

Dean can feel his cheeks turn red. He takes a step back and looks down, biting his lip. "Yeah, well." He shrugs. "So did you."

It should feel like a challenge, but it really doesn't – it feels like Dean's being backed against a wall with no way out, because how can he justify calling out for his 'Daddy' while fucking an Angel of the Lord? There are special places in Hell for people like him.

"I did."

Dean's eyes flash up in surprise at the heat in his Angel's voice, and he sucks in a breath when he realizes Castiel is standing, much closer than he'd thought he was. He can smell the spicy ocean-and-ozone scent of him, feel his warm exhale in the No Man's Land between them.

Castiel cocks his head to one side, a slight smile gracing his lips, before he raises a hand, palm flattened towards the ground, and pushes down. Dean gasps when he feels a pressure on his shoulders, forcing him to his knees, and though he knows it's Castiel doing it to him and trusts Castiel with everything, he still struggles, because it's instinct – everything making him a Hunter flaring up against the invisible hands holding him down.

Then, it hits him that Castiel is _forcing him down with his Grace,_ and that flush of adrenaline turns into something else – something hot and heavy in the pit of his stomach and Dean sucks in another breath, pupils gone blown, nostrils flared and lips parted as he stares up at Castiel behind wide eyes.

"I liked it when you called me that," Castiel whispers, still cool and collected as anything – his palm doesn't waver, his hand doesn't shake. The only giveaway to how he's really feeling is the azure fire in his eyes and the obvious bulge in his pants. "I think…" He cocks his head the other way. "…that I want you to say it again."

Dean bares his teeth when Castiel turns his hand, and the Hunter's eyes close, his shoulders hunching forward when he feels the Angel's fingers reaching for him, his Grace probing the throbbing hardness between Dean's legs, back further when Castiel crooks his fingers, and the Hunter feels the first dry slide of a phantom touch outside his hole.

"Cas," he gasps out, moaning when the Angel's lips quirk up, and his eyes flash, and he conjures slick up inside Dean's body so that he can slide one tendril of Grace deep inside of Dean, filling him as completely as if one of Castiel's own fingers were doing the job. Castiel lifts his other hand and waves towards himself, forcing Dean to drop to his hands and knees in front of the Angel, and Dean's fingers fist in the thick shag carpeting, his back arching against the sensation of Castiel's finger in his ass, pressing up against his prostate. _"God."_

"Hmm, close," Castiel murmurs, twisting his 'finger' inside of Dean again and adding a second, pushing in deeper so that he can graze his mate's prostate.

Dean whines low in his throat, desperate, gasping with tears in his eyes as he fights against the sensations flooding his body, trying to get a grip on them. "I…" He chokes off when Castiel presses down on his prostate, his other hand ghosting along Dean's back and digging harshly into his flanks through clothes. "I…" He shakes his head. "I don't think I can." Not again.

Embarrassment and lust flow through Dean in equal measure, making his cheeks burn as well as the iron ball of heat in his gut, enticed further by Castiel's Grace inside and around him. He lifts his head to seek out Castiel's eyes, finds the Angel watching him stoically, with his lips parted slightly, shiny like he's just licked them. Dean tries to reach forward, to fist a hand in Castiel's clothes and pull him down desperately, but he can't move because Castiel won't let him.

The Angel kneels, this time brushing his real hand over the side of Dean's face, thumb tracing the bow of his upper lip and then resting in the lower. "Say it, Dean," he whispers, smiling slightly, "and I'll let you come. It's alright." He twists his other hand, jerking savagely and Dean's entire body stiffens, feeling like Castiel's just thrust into him, hilting himself completely with his cock. _God,_ it feels fucking amazing. _So fucking good, Cas, please…_

"Cas…"

"Come on, Dean," Castiel coaxes, flashing teeth in his smile this time; "Don't you wanna be Daddy's good little boy?"

"Oh, _fuck -."_ Dean can't even get the entire sentiment out before he's coming in his jeans, curling in on himself from the force of his orgasm as Castiel continues to fuck him with his Grace, Dean's body rocking continually as he comes with a low, broken moan.

He manages to fling a hand out, nails curling in the thick carpet by Castiel's foot, and moves his hand to grab onto the hem of Castiel's trousers. His body is so limp, so fucked-out, that he needs that hold to try and pull himself upright as, gradually, Castiel's Grace on him and inside of him abates and withdraws, leaving Dean feeling like maybe he can breathe and stand on his own again.

He ends up still on his knees, Castiel not letting him up all the way, and the Angel is looking down at him with his usual blank expression, but his eyes are still burning dark with lust, and Dean is very aware that he's still hard. The Hunter's still blushing, unable to believe that he's kneeling with cooling come in his pants like he's a teenager again, because an Angel of the Lord had held him down and called him 'Daddy's good little boy'.

He's so going to Hell again.

The Angel smiles, tilting his head to one side, eyes going lazy and half-lidded as he palms the side of Dean's face, lightly tracing his bottom lip until it falls open, letting Dean's warm breath ghost over the skin and Castiel's hardness through his slacks.

The Angel shivers, biting his lip, and tugs lightly on Dean's hair. "Care to return the favor?" he growls out, voice low and rough and Dean feels it like a skittering down his spine. He shivers, eyes fluttering closed, and then grins, opening his eyes again to meet Castiel's.

"Sure thing," he whispers in reply, his hands going up to help Castiel unfasten and unzip his pants. "Daddy."

Dean's not sure if it's the word or his mouth that wrings a groan out of Castiel, but with the way the Angel's holding onto the back of his head, keeping him still as he slowly thrusts in and out of Dean's mouth, just driving him to the brink of gagging and then withdrawing, he doesn't much care.


	22. For Your Sake, Stop

**Title:** For Your Sake, Stop  
><strong>Author: <strong>highermagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** Dean/Castiel, Dean/OMC  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Castiel?  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> attempted non-con, drugging  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>  
><strong>Summary:<strong> He's been watching for some time – Dean's been able to feel his eyes on the back of his neck for the whole damn night, staring at him the way monsters stare at him. Like he wants to eat Dean alive.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Written for this prompt from the deancaskink meme. I decided to make Cas still an Angel because of the angle I was playing it. Hope you like it, Anon!

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><p>He's been watching for some time – Dean's been able to feel his eyes on the back of his neck for the whole damn night, and it's really throwing him off his game. He's trying to get some more money from a few 'friendly' pool games, but this guy…is staring at him the way monsters stare at him. Like he wants to eat Dean alive.<p>

After the next bunch of suckers lose a couple Benjamins to him, the guy steps up. Dean had figured that it wouldn't take long. "Hey," he says, all casual smile and dark, lustful expression. It makes a shiver run up Dean's spine, and not in the good way.

There's a skittering down at the base of his neck. Dean clenches his jaw, shoulders hunched, and racks up the balls. "Hey," he says shortly – it's possibly the coldest greeting he's ever given anyone, demons included. The guy, though, doesn't seem perturbed.

"Drink and a game sound good?"

Dean pauses, blinking – as much as he would like to tell the guy to shove it where the sun don't shine, he could use the extra money. And despite the fact that the guy gives him more heebies than he knows what to do with – coming from a _Hunter_ – he reluctantly accepts.

The guy comes back with two beers while Dean finishes racking up, and hands him a pool cue. Instead of just taking it like a normal person, the guy pulls on the cue right after Dean wraps his hand around it, so the two men collide and Dean gets a whiff of his cologne – it's pleasant, in that abstract sort of way, but Dean tenses and pushes himself back, a little bit of trepidation starting in his gut.

He licks his lips and notices the guy following the action with his eyes. "Let's play."

They drink and play the game. About half the beer in, Dean notices his eyesight's getting a little fuzzy around the edges. His words are slurring – and he _hasn't_ drunk enough for that to start happening. He _knows_ this. It's when he stumbles around the table and the guy takes the opportunity to 'help him up' that Dean realizes what must be going on.

With a low growl, he shoves at the man's chest, but the guy's strong – he's got a few inches on Dean and more muscle – and he holds the incapacitated Hunter easily to his chest. "Get off me," Dean hisses, eyes wide with dread as he realizes that the man must have drugged him – the beers had been open when he'd handed Dean his.

_Stupid_. _Rookie mistake._

The guy laughs. "I think you've had enough." His voice seems oily – how can no one else see it? "Time to take you outside, buddy."

_Oh God, no_. Dean's eyes widen and he shakes his head, trying to struggle more vehemently, but his fingers refuse to close into fists and he feels about as weak as a kitten right now. The room is spinning and he can barely stand, and _Jesus, what the fuck did this guy _do_ to me?_

The guy slings an arm around Dean's waist and hauls him outside, steering him into the empty back alley and Dean begins his futile struggles in earnest now. "Stop," he pleads, knowing he has no other option than to beg for this man's mercy – tomorrow, when he's sober, he'll hunt this bastard down and make him pay, but for now he has nothing. "You don't want to do this." And Dean knows that he really, really does – but he'll regret it.

The guy chuckles and slams Dean up against the wall, knocking the wind out of him and Dean gasps, clenching his eyes shut against the stab of pain running through his limp body. He feels the man's hot breath against his mouth before a beer-coated tongue is being pushed between his lips. He fights, gagging on the taste and the almost clumsy, invasive action, but all it gets him is another low laugh.

"No," the man replies, eyes flashing when he moves away from Dean's mouth, fingers sliding down the Hunter's flanks in a way that's so possessive it makes Dean want to throw up. "I think I'll enjoy this a lot."

Dean shakes his head, biting his lip with a soft whimper when the man cups his flaccid cock through his jeans, pressing an open-mouthed kiss against his racing pulse. "Please," he begs, one final time – three strikes and it's over. "Stop."

The guy laughs again, and kisses Dean once more, and Dean knows it's over.

He's just as much scared for himself as he is for this guy's fate. Because if he doesn't feel retribution at the hands of Dean then he'll _certainly_ feel it at -.

A rush of displaced air, and the sound of falling feathers. Dean tenses up again, feeling the suddenly thick air as he breaths it in desperately around the kiss he doesn't want, pushing at the guy's shoulders, because Dean hates this, wants this guy to suffer – but there's human suffering, and then _Castiel's_ version of suffering, and Dean doesn't think he quite deserves that.

Suddenly the man is gone and Dean slumps to the ground, boneless, with a soft groan. He blinks open bleary eyes and Castiel's there. The Angel's expression is murderous – he's holding the man against the alley wall with just his power, a hand shaking with rage, fingers curling slightly, raised in front of him to focus his power. His eyes are so dark as to almost be black, and though it's not as obvious as one might see in a normal person, his lips are very subtly curled in a snarl of fury.

"Cas," Dean gasps out, trying to move onto his feet to get to the Angel, to tell him that he's okay, and to let the guy go – they'll find him tomorrow, or report him, or something. But all he can manage is to get to his hands and knees, and when the Angel's eyes flash to him, that's what Castiel sees – he sees _his_ Charge, _his_ mate, _his_ Hunter, brought to nothing by a man who _dared_ to touch and attempt to defile him. It makes his fingers curl a little tighter and the man chokes.

"Cas," Dean tries again, lifting his head and trying to focus with bleary eyes. "Come on. Let him go." The Angel snarls again, seemingly beyond words at that moment, and Dean blinks, sighing, trying a different tactic; "Please, Cas," he whispers, sitting back on his heels. "I can…" He blanches, shuddering. "I can feel him all over me. Please."

_That_ seems to break the tense impasse – Castiel's eyes flash with compassion, with love towards Dean, and he reluctantly lets the man drop with another low growl. He steps up to the man who is staring at him with wide, disbelieving eyes, and Dean wonders what he sees – if he sees the wrath of Heaven in the Angel's eyes.

"This trespass will not be forgiven," Castiel whispered solemnly, extending two fingers towards the man's head, "or forgotten." Then, the man disappears and Castiel is suddenly by Dean's side – the Angel's warm, gentle hands cup Dean's face and, slowly, the effects of the drug seem to fade away, leaving dreadful clarity and an almost knife-edged realization of what that guy would have done had Castiel not arrived.

He takes a deep breath, not meeting the Angel's eyes, as his trembling fingers reach forward and press lightly against Castiel's coat, over his breast. "I'm fine," he whispers, taking a deep breath and calming himself down. His eyes meet Castiel's. The Angel's gaze feels like it's burning him. "I'm okay," he repeats, more for his sake than Castiel's.

The Angel presses his lips together, and his eyes flash down to Dean's mouth, almost like he can see the stain of the other man's kiss, and perhaps he can. Dean licks his lips, wanting to get rid of it, to hide it away – that moment of weakness never happened. But Castiel sighs gently, brushing his thumb over the rise of Dean's cheek, and leans forward, pressing their foreheads together.

"May I?" he whispers, and while Dean thinks it's absolutely ridiculous for Castiel to have to ask permission to _kiss him_, he's suddenly more grateful than he could ever express. The need to regain control…Castiel knows it. Of course he does.

Dean licks his lips again and nods, and the Angel gifts him with one of those gentle almost-smiles, threading one hand through Dean's hair and leaning in to seal their lips together. He tastes of ozone and ocean spray, salty and sweet all at once and Dean stifles a small sound against his mouth, surging forward into the kiss, eager to taste his mate's mouth again after that…_intruder_ ruined him. He wants Castiel to restake his claim. He wants that more than anything.

_"Cas_." The Angel's name is muffled against his mouth as Dean fists his hands in Castiel's trench coat, pulling him closer so their bodies are meshed together, Dean's legs falling on either side of Castiel's thighs and he's kneeling in the Angel's lap – like Castiel is worshipping him, praising him and raising him on high and that feels _good_. The first stirrings of lust start low in Dean's gut, incensed by Castiel's kiss and the gentle tugs in his hair; the way he kisses – slow, languid, long like he has all the time in the world – all consuming and mind-numbing; the way his other hand has flattened across the small of Dean's back, locking him in, surrounding him, keeping him safe.

"I will always come for you," Castiel whispers, as solemn as a vow and Dean believes it. He believes it with all his heart – Castiel might not always show himself, but he's there, and Dean knows he won't be abandoned when it's important. "Dean."

The Hunter smiles, withdrawing a little so he can see Castiel's face. "I know," he replies, and Castiel gives a solemn nod, leaning in to mark Dean's mouth again, the hand in Dean's hair cupping his face and holding him close. It feels like the Angel is breathing his very air into Dean's lungs – usually he'd need to breathe by now.

The Angel's other hand moves downwards, around the seam of Dean's thigh and presses against the Hunter's half-hard cock. Just a touch, his hot, Grace-charged fingers brushing against Dean through his clothes, is enough to make the Hunter jolt and stutter out a breath. Castiel smiles with gentle affection, nuzzling into Dean's neck as he palms the Hunter's cock with sure, deft, knowing strokes. Dean whines, clutching at Castiel's head and bending his own down to mouth at the soft tufts of hair behind Castiel's ear as he rolls his hips into the touches, desperate for more pressure. His fingers, needy and frantic, comb through the Angel's soft hair as he inhales Castiel's unique, calming scent.

_"Cas_," he whispers, rolling his hips again harder into the Angel's touch, and Castiel smiles, lightly kissing Dean's neck.

"I know, Dean," the Angel replies, holding the Hunter closer and letting him chase his orgasm. Dean shivers when he feels the Angel's Grace curl through him like a leaden snake in his gut, pleasure striking him from every nerve ending – every cell sighing in delight at the Angel's touch. It doesn't take long for him to come, and with a wave of Castiel's hand the evidence is gone so that Dean's not left with any sticky, uncomfortable residue in his jeans.

The Hunter relaxes, leaning back again to find Castiel's mouth and wring a soft sigh out of the Angel. He can feel Castiel's own need digging into his inner thigh, and rolls his hips once again – this time to tease and invite.

"Take me home," he whispers, green eyes bright and joyous, and Castiel's smile is radiant.


	23. Let Me Help You

**Title:** Let Me Help You  
><strong>Author: <strong>highermagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** Dean/Castiel  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Season 6  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> angst, dub-con, violence, mentions of character death, graceturbation  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~3,800  
><strong>Summary:<strong>Castiel looked tired – worse than that, he looked weary, but beneath that weariness was anger – burning hot, roiling like the churning of magma underneath the Angel's stoic exterior.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. This was prompted AGES ago and I just got around to writing it. Written for this prompt at the deancaskink meme. Hope you like it, signalfire! It didn't turn out very…well, just read. Enjoy! :D

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><p>"Dean." Castiel looked tired – worse than that, he looked <em>weary<em>, like he was carrying the weight of not just the world, but all the worlds that had never been and never would be and always will be on his shoulders as well. Still, beneath that weariness was anger – burning hot, roiling like the churning of magma underneath the Angel's stoic exterior. "I am in the middle of a battle. I cannot be at your beck and call -."

"You know what I think, Cas?" Dean interrupted, stepping closer into the Angel's space. The clench of Castiel's jaw warned him back just as much as the flashing of his eyes and the defiant tilt of his chin, but Dean didn't waver. "I think that's all complete bullshit," he snarled, making Castiel's eyes flash again, bright with his Grace and the wrath of Heaven. "I think it's all just an excuse – it can't be that bad, otherwise it would be affecting us down here, too."

Dean was aware of a low rumbling sound, and it took him a moment to realize that Castiel had _growled_ at him. "Are you -?" The Angel paused, letting out a harsh breath through his flared nostrils, clenching his jaw and pressing his lips tightly together. He looked angrier than Dean had ever seen him, and the Hunter wondered briefly just how angry that meant he _actually_ was.

Then, Castiel's hand flew forward, curling his fingers into Dean's arm hard enough to hurt. "Then I'll show you," he said curtly, and was winging away before Dean had time to think that this was a really bad idea.

* * *

><p>Dean blinked open his eyes on the edge of a large plane. He felt like he was looking out over Wyoming or something, with the rolling grasslands and all that stereotype. It looked picturesque, perfect, like something out of a painting.<p>

He turned to look at Castiel questioningly, but the Angel was watching the sky. His shoulders were tense, halves of his trench coat flapping in the light breeze. He looked afraid.

"What's -?"

"Castiel?"

An Angel suddenly appeared in front of the two of them. Dean didn't recognize him (though that didn't surprise him), but he looked…a little worse for wear. His vessel was of a middle aged man, thin, tall, blonde, but blood caked the entire left side of his face. His arm looked like it had a severe chemical burn on it, and Dean got a look at the Angel's wings, which were flared out behind him; over half of the feathers were missing or broken.

Castiel's eyes widened and filled with compassion, and he stepped towards the other Angel, letting Dean's arm go. "Sariel," he whispered, raising a glowing palm to the uninjured side of the Angel's face. "I wish I could…"

"It's alright," the other Angel replied, seemingly ignoring Dean's presence for now as he licked his lips, covering Castiel's hand with his own and removing it from his face. "Raphael has taken over the West quarter. We were overrun."

"What?" he gasped. "How, how is that possible?"

The Angel – Sariel – swallowed, hesitated. "We were without orders."

Castiel stepped back from the Angel, letting go of his face. Then, he swallowed, and turned back to look at Dean. "Come," he demanded, his eyes going flat again and devoid of any emotion. "You should see this."

* * *

><p>The area looked like a market square of Rome – one side was dominated by a huge temple-looking building, with columns stretching up higher than Dean could see, reaching into the clouds. It was the only part of the square that was still in one piece.<p>

The rest looked like a nuke had hit it. There was a giant crater in the center of the square, gently smoking and completely devoid of…anything – whatever had caused it was long gone. Buildings had been laid to waste; Dean could see their foundations but not much else. In amongst the gently crumbling pieces of buildings, Dean could swear he saw pieces of clothing; remnants of Angels that had died.

When Dean turned back to Castiel, the Angel was looking around the ruined square – his expression was stoic, giving nothing away. "How many?" he asked, in a tone that was flat and emotionless.

Sariel swallowed. "We lost two garrisons here."

Castiel's eyes fell closed, and he let out a breath. "Thank you, Sariel," he said, bowing his head and then turning back to look at the other Angel. "Regroup down in the Southern quarter, in our safehouse there. I shall be with you as soon as I can."

"The men are afraid, Castiel," Sariel murmured, eyes flashing to Dean for a moment. "They need a leader."

Castiel's shoulders sagged. "I know," he replied, and Sariel nodded, before winging away with a soft flap of wings and a brief disturbance of the air. Then, he lifted his head, looking back out to the one standing building. "Two garrisons," he repeated, shaking his head.

"How many is that?" Dean asked, still looking around.

"A thousand," Castiel replied, taking a deep breath, before he turned to look at Dean. The anger was back, visible in the tense line of Castiel's shoulders, and Dean's eyes widened, he took a step back when the air behind Castiel was disturbed, like a haze in the desert, and he knew the Angel was flaring his wings high. "One thousand Angels died today," he grit out, turning more fully towards Dean, malice and fury flashing in his eyes. "Do you understand? A thousand lights that I could have saved."

"You would have died with them!" Dean bit back defensively, squaring his shoulders, meeting Castiel's burning gaze head-on. Why did it seem so much harder to do now?

Castiel made that weird rumbling-growl noise again, taking a step towards Dean. His lips were barely curled up in a snarl, his eyes narrowed and completely flat. He looked furious. He looked…dangerous. "When will you understand," he bit out, taking another step closer, "that I have other lives, other responsibilities, than you and your brother?"

There was a soft metal 'ching' in the air, and Dean's eyes widened when he looked down, finding that Castiel had manifested his blade into his hand, white-knuckling his grip on it, and Dean took another step back, stumbling on the steps leading up to the one remaining building, and fell back onto the ground, still staring up at Castiel. The Angel came to a halt between Dean's feet, pointing his blade straight to Dean's heart.

"You ungrateful _boy_," he snarled, eyes flashing again, the shadows of his wings flaring high on either side of Dean on the ground, silhouetted by the sun. "Don't you understand – all it takes is one man, one Angel, to turn the tides. You should know that better than anyone."

He paused, then, staring down at Dean for an unfathomably long moment. Dean felt like he was staring into his very soul – it made him want to curl up and hide away from that all-seeing, all-knowing gaze.

"You cannot know what would have happened on this day had I been here."

Dean blew out a breath when Castiel broke gazes with him, waving his hand to make his blade disappear to wherever it went when not in use. Dean felt like a leaden weight had been taken off his chest, like he could breathe again. He tried getting up, tried to move, but Castiel snapped his fingers, just once, and Dean found himself flattened to the steps, the corners of them pressing into his back uncomfortably, immobilized.

He gasped, wincing when Castiel moved away and the sun beat down on Dean's body, almost too hot and he wondered if it was always like this in Heaven; too bright, too warm, too everything. Then, a shadow fell across his face again, and Castiel was kneeling by his head. His blade was back, the cool metal just resting on the line of Dean's throat as the Angel studied him.

Dean swallowed, feeling the rise and dip of the metal as it followed him. "Gonna kill me, Cas?" he muttered, blinking up into bright blue eyes.

The Angel's eyes narrowed, and he pressed a little harder to the flesh of Dean's throat, pressing his lips together in thought. "No," he murmured, lessening the pressure in Dean's neck. "You would have no choice but to come here. I'd never be rid of you." Something, then, like a flash of mirth or indulgence flew across Castiel's expression before it was gone, back into the mask of fury and nothingness.

They stayed like that for a few more seconds. Dean didn't know what Castiel was looking for – there was this furrow in his brow like he was trying to figure out a very intricate puzzle, but he had no idea where to start. "Cas -."

Castiel twisted his blade quickly and Dean found his mouth sealed shut, unable to talk. "Be silent, child," he whispered, almost derisively, but there wasn't enough sting to really hurt. Then, his eyes flashed to Dean's, meeting and holding the Hunter's gaze. "Why are the lives of a thousand humans worth more than my brethren, Dean?" he asked, almost as though expecting an answer even though he'd sealed the Hunter's lips shut. "I have lost a thousand brothers, in this day alone, and I have been at war for many months in Heaven while you and your brother live on." Castiel swallowed, looking out towards the desolation of the square. "Imagine losing Sam, Dean – imagine doing it thousands of times, day after day. Even the brothers I never knew the name of, I shared my Grace with, because that is how Heaven works."

Dean swallowed, trying to open his mouth, to speak, to explain, but Castiel's eyes warned him to remain silent. "And yet I still come to help you, and Sam – you repeatedly trick me, belittle me, threaten me…" He paused, cocking his head to one side and pressed down a little more firmly at the hollow of Dean's throat with the point of his blade, lips pursed in thought. "What I think you have forgotten, Dean Winchester, is that I was and still am an Angel of the Lord." His eyes flashed again. "And I am far more powerful than you could even imagine."

Dean gasped, suddenly, back arching as much as he could with Castiel's restraints on him when he felt burning hot hands land on his body, through his clothes, though he could see no one touching him. Castiel's eyes were blue fire, burning him with his gaze until it felt like someone was pressing a brand against his face – the only part of him that was cool was the gentle press of Castiel's blade against his neck.

"I wield a power over you and your body that you could never fathom," Castiel whispered, cocking his head to one side, and Dean gasped again, clenching his jaw and fighting with all his might when the touch dragged lower, over his heart, across his nipples, lingering at his ribs for a moment before dragging down his flanks. "I can make you feel as though you are drowning in Hellfire, make it last for eternity and have only a second of Earth's time pass."

The touch burned, hurt more than Dean would care to say, and he fixed pain-filled eyes on Castiel, willing him to stop, begging him to let Dean go.

The Angel's mouth twisted slightly in dissatisfaction. "I could bring you endless pain, Dean, endless pleasure…I could make you happier than you would ever dream of, or bring everything crashing down around you." His eyes narrowed and Dean's widened, the Hunter throwing his head back when he felt pressure between his legs, phantom hands touching his flesh as though his clothes weren't there. From his position, he could see there was nothing where what he could only assume was Castiel's Grace was touching him, putting pressure against his flaccid cock, another touch like the slick press of fingers circling lower, around his entrance. Dean bit his lip, fingers curling into fists, unable to speak, to demand Castiel let him go, unable to roll his hips up into the pleasurable touch that he wasn't sure he wanted. What was Cas _doing_ to him?

"Why do you fear such mundane things?" the Angel continued, as though he was oblivious to what he was doing to Dean as the Hunter gasped and writhed against the stone steps, his breath catching in his throat when the 'hand' on his cock formed a tight seal, wringing pleasure out of Dean with every pull, and the fingers between his legs dove deep – there was no pain like he anticipated, only mind-numbing, body-tingling pleasure, curling through every part of him, setting every nerve alight. "Why do you reserve your fear for the touch of a blade," Castiel pressed with a little more force against Dean's throat, enough that the sharp tip nicked Dean's skin, making him flinch, "or the trigger of a gun, and yet save none of your awe and respect for me?"

Dean growled out low in his throat, leaning his head back and glaring up at Castiel, and the Angel flashed him one of those small almost-smiles. He leaned down, cupping Dean's face with his free hand, and kissed Dean, lightly pressing his lips to the Hunter's. Suddenly Dean could speak.

"Let me go," he demanded, moaning behind clenched teeth when the touches turned rougher, the fingers of Grace jabbing into his body, stretching him too far, becoming rough with either passion or anger, and the hand on his cock clenched too tightly, and he could feel more hands on him now – one around his throat, closing tightly with a tight grip; one digging red, raw lines into his flanks; one clenching tight over his heart like an animal intent on ripping it out. _"Cas_."

"Again you call my name," the Angel snarled, baring his teeth and moving his blade so it lay flat under Dean's jaw. "Again you demand more of me. I give and I give – I give you pleasure, and punishment, everything that you are too afraid to ask for." Dean's eyes widened, true fear building up in his eyes now. "What is my mercy and kindness worth to you, you ungrateful, demanding, _petulant_ little boy?"

Dean blinked, swallowing and licking his lips as Castiel stared him down, the wrath of Heaven flaring in the Angel's eyes. Slowly, hardly daring to move, he rolled his hips, spreading his legs out just a little further. "Cas," he whispered, that single stupid moniker, and the Angel's eyes narrowed.

Castiel smirked – a slow, crooked smile that terrified Dean, as the Angel stood, moving to kneel between Dean's legs. "You demand even more of me," Castiel whispered, laying his hands onto Dean's thighs and melting his clothes away, baring the Hunter to the press of Castiel's fingers as his Grace gradually withdrew. "You would beg to join with me on the very stairs of Heaven's City Hall." Dean blinked, looking back up at the building, and swallowed again. "You have no respect, Dean, absolutely none, for all the things I hold dear."

"Let me help you," Dean gasped out, whispered with no more volume or conviction that if he would tell Sam to leave and never come back.

Castiel chuckled, shaking his head. "You can't."

Whatever Dean might have said was lost, as the Grace-charged touches returned to his body, burrowing deep like hooks in his skin. The feeling reminded him way more of Hell than he'd ever thought something with Castiel would, made fear spread through him like being submerged in a pool of icy water, and he gasped, fingers clenching against the feeling, but he still couldn't move his arms or upper body.

Castiel's hands fumbled with his vessel's clothing, revealing nothing of himself but his own hard flesh, taking out his erection and pumping, once, his eyelids fluttering at the very human, carnal pleasure that the action brought.

Then, he focused back on Dean, crawling over the Hunter's body and taking Dean's wrists, pulling them until they were pinned by the man's head. He positioned himself, one hand guiding him in to the Grace-stretched hole, and Dean shuddered, biting his lip and never looking from Castiel's face as the Angel thrust forward in one smooth motion, hilting himself completely without a care for Dean's comfort.

Dean let his head fall back against the stone steps as Castiel bowed his head, his warm breath ghosting over Dean's neck, his hands clenching tightly around the Hunter's wrists, before he pulled back, thrusting forward again and making Dean's whole body jolt – it hurt, _Lord_ did it hurt, but it was so good too, like the burn after running or the first painful press into a tight knot of muscle.

Dean groaned, rocking his hips up to try and get Castiel deeper, because he was no stranger to this (some of his girlfriends had been adventurous) and he knew there was that one spot inside…if only he could get Cas to…

"Let me help you," he demanded again, rocking his body up against Castiel's, his cock pressing against the soft fabric of Jimmy Novak's business suit. "Damn it, Cas, let me -."

"You can't," the Angel snarled, rearing back to look Dean in the eye. They were so close Dean could feel Castiel's breath against his lips, and he licked his own on instinct, wanting to lean in, to know this part of the Angel as well. "You can't _possibly_ know -."

"It only takes one man, right?" Dean bit back, glaring up at Castiel with all the force he could muster, while the Angel finally found his prostate. His entire body seized, tensing, and Dean's breath left him in a harsh gust.

Castiel blinked down at him, for once losing his solid anger towards Dean – the change was almost like night and day, how much Castiel softened when he thought about what Dean just said. Dean pressed on; "You can't know what'll happen. So, what, Raph kills us? Like you said, we'd just come here." Dean swallowed, looking up into the Angel's eyes with all the sincerity and conviction he could muster. "Just…just let me help, Cas. Please."

The Angel paused for a moment, cocking his head to one side, before he bit his lower lip, letting the soft flesh drag from between white teeth. He lifted his gaze, staring at the large doors of the remaining building, before he shook his head, smiling a little, and looked back to Dean.

"You have brought me to my lowest, Dean Winchester," he whispered, "and just when I am about to give up…" He shook his head, pulling back and thrusting deep inside of Dean's body again, making the Hunter moan, locking up tightly around him. Castiel leaned down, then, slanting his lips over Dean's – it was not a gentle kiss, but that made sense because Dean doubted anything Castiel knew nowadays was gentle; he bit, tongue licking over the soreness in Dean's lips before stealing inside like he knew if he left it too long his prey would try and bite back, and Dean laid back and let him, met him blow for blow until they were both spit-slick and panting hard against each other's open mouths. Not a second after the first kiss ended, Castiel began the second, speeding up his pace inside of Dean as both of them neared climax. It seemed like, now, they had reached some kind of understanding, some kind of mutual acceptance of each other.

"Cas," Dean gasped out between the onslaught, his entire body fighting to touch, to take, to give back as Castiel gave to him, and he bit his lip, moaning softly against Castiel's jaw when the Angel gave him a little space to breathe. "Please, Cas – _damn it_, please -."

"Shh," Castiel replied, leaning down to brush his lips over Dean's. "Demand no more of me. Beg no more of me. I have nothing left to give you."

Their orgasms were like an afterthought, so much already built up and crashing down around them that this…this was nothing. This was almost normal. Castiel, once he was spent inside of Dean, collapsed on the Hunter as though all of his strength had been drained out of him, and Dean found himself finally able to move, to reach for the Angel. He pulled Castiel close, wrapping his legs around the Angel and keeping him, if not safe, then at least cushioned, within his arms and body.

For a long while, the only sound was their breathing and the gentle wind blowing through the ruins of the square. "Can you rebuild it?" Dean asked after a long moment, looking out to the ruin. "These buildings. Were they important?"

"The entire center of my force," Castiel replied, voice low and desolate. "I'm running out of…of everything. I have nothing left."

"Let me…" Dean paused, swallowing. "If there's anything I can do. Anything, Cas, please."

"There is…" Castiel paused, trailing off, and then sighed, pushing himself up for a moment, away from the welcoming warmth of Dean's body. With a wave of his hand they were both clothed fully and appeared completely untouched. Aside from the soreness in Dean's body, the Hunter would have thought he'd imagined it all. Castiel pulled Dean to his feet with his hand, brushing his palm across Dean's cheek. "Just trust me," he said, giving Dean a smile that was almost sad. "I will need your help very soon."

Before Dean could ask what he meant, Castiel placed two fingers to his forehead, and Dean woke up in a motel room, Sam sitting at the coffee table across the way, still soulless and sleepless. Dean rolled over, wincing at the pain in his back and ass, and pressed his lips together, rolling out of bed.

"So," Sam said conversationally once Dean was out of the bathroom, "since we're butt buddies with Meg, we're gonna need a little extra help. I was going to try calling Cas again once you'd gotten up."

Dean's eyes flashed, and he looked up to meet Sam's eyes, then to the ceiling. "No," he said, taking a deep breath and sighing. "Leave the guy alone. He's got enough on his plate." Dean rubbed at his eyes tiredly, ignoring Sam's incredulous look. "We'll do it some other way."

"But, Dean -."

"No, Sam," Dean snapped, looking back up. "I said 'No'."

Sam paused. "Is it a soul thing?" he asked, wrinkling his nose in distaste.

Dean snorted, a dry, bitter smirk coming to his face. "Sure," he said. "Let's go with that."


	24. The Black Friday Sales

Title: The Black Friday Sales  
>Author: HigherMagic<br>Pairings: Dean/Castiel  
>Rating: NC-17<br>Word Count: ~2,200**  
>Warnings:<strong> sex in a fitting room, rimming  
><strong>Summary:<strong> It was not really something Dean ever gave much thought to – they never celebrated Thanksgiving, let alone go to the Black Friday sales.**  
><strong>**Notes: **I felt in a bottom!Cas mood and felt really bad 'cause the thanksgiving porn I promised dirgesong disappeared. Here you are, darling! Hope you like it! Totally not proof-read. Sorry. x

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><p>It was not really something Dean ever gave much thought to – they never celebrated <em>Thanksgiving<em>, let alone go to the Black Friday sales. And it really wasn't fair – he'd been well on his way to a tryptophan coma when Sam had sprung Black Friday shopping on him as one of the ways to welcome Cas to being human. Honestly, he'd just been tired and sleepy and well fed so he kind of agreed and rolled over and went to sleep.

So, that was why they were in front of the Florida Mall in Miami, ready to brave the rush of crazy women and men incensed by the need to get all their Christmas shopping done _today_. (And really, guys? It wasn't even December. Calm down.)

He had a headache before they even entered the mall, but Sam was already geeking out, the girl, over going shopping and had Cas in tow, and really, Dean didn't relish the idea of leaving his brother and his boyfriend-Angel-mate-whatever alone, so he followed like he was being led on a leash.

"Sam seems very exuberant," Castiel observed when they passed the first clothing store and Sam immediately charged in.

"I'm almost a hundred percent sure he has secret girl parts I'm not aware of," Dean replied with a small smirk, wincing when he passed by a rack of clothes that were, swear to God, bright pink and _sparkly_. All of them. "But, I mean, we do actually need to get you some clothes. You sweat now."

"You make me sweat," Castiel replied smoothly, forcing Dean to halt and blink at him. The quip had caught him off guard, as well as caused a wall of very inappropriate thoughts to crash into his head – yeah, he made Castiel sweat. A lot.

In a lot of different ways.

He smirked after a moment and threw Castiel a wink, before moving off into the treacherous depths of the story. If he wasn't careful, Sam would turn into a girl in the middle of the shop and he wouldn't recognize him until they got out again. Or he'd be picked up by a single mom and start stammering because apparently with a soul he is still an awkward teenager who needs lessons on how to talk to girls.

Castiel followed him, occasionally reaching out and touching a piece of clothing that caught his eye, or looked like a strange material he wanted to feel. Touch was so much more complicated as a human; he felt things more intensely but less acutely. As an Angel, letting his fingers stroke over the soft faux fur lining a hood, he would be able to detect each fiber and feel the atoms that made it up, gently buzzing with energy under his hand. As a human, all he could come up with was 'soft'. It was frustrating and confusing at times, but he had learned to get used to and enjoy the limited human range of sensation.

"Do you like that?" Dean asked, snapping Castiel out of his thoughts. The man pressed up close to his side, looking at the simple blue t-shirt he'd been touching, his fingers skimming over the fingers without him realizing it.

Castiel nodded, and Dean pressed his lips together. "I like it, too," he replied, eyes flashing to Castiel's face. "Brings out your eyes." He grinned, then, something mischievous and a little worrying sparking in his eyes, and took a random one off the rack. "Let's see if it fits," he said.

"Dean, that is not necessary," Castiel replied with a frown, reaching for his mate. "I'm sure that we can guess from -."

"Cas." Dean paused, turning around and letting Castiel catch up to him. His eyes flashed again and a slow smile curved his mouth. His eyes slowly dragged down Castiel's face, to his lips, then lower still and back up in a gesture the Angel definitely recognized. "I want to see how this looks on you. Come on."

Without another word, Castiel nodded, letting Dean take his hand and lead him towards the back of the store, where the fitting rooms were. Unmanned – probably unable to staff it since every employee was currently at work trying to earn their commissions with the crazy shoppers in the store. Dean pushed into the first empty stall he could find and handed Castiel the shirt.

"Put it on," he said, eyes already darker than their usual grass green, wetting his lips slightly and Castiel lifted his chin slightly, nostrils flaring as he scented the air. The breath he took in was thick and heavy, lust saturating it and making it hard to breathe in. Dean.

Without a word, Castiel took the shirt and hung it up on one of the hooks, then proceeded to slide the trench coat off his shoulders. Dean leaned back against the wall, arms across his chest tight enough to make his muscles tense up and stand out, his legs crossed at the ankles emphasizing the growing bulge between his legs. Castiel smirked, realizing Dean was getting hot from watching him undress.

"Somethin' funny?" Dean breathed, licking his lips once more when Castiel caught his coat in his hands, lifting it up and smoothing the collar down before he hung it up on the second hook, and went for his tie after that.

He jerked on the knot harshly and Dean's body went tense for a moment. "No," he replied, making his voice casual and light, raising a brow at Dean. "Not at all."

"Sneaky little…" Dean cut himself off when Castiel pulled the tie from around his neck. Pulling it loose had caused his hair to start sticking up every which-way, and Dean just barely resisted the urge to clench his fingers in Castiel's thick, dark hair.

Castiel carefully hung the tie up over the coat, too, and then shrugged off his suit jacket in the same way. Next came the undershirt, the buttons sliding out of their holes easily under his nimble, dexterous fingers. Dean's breathing seemed to get heavier and heavier with each inch of skin that was bared until, finally, all the buttons were undone, the two halves of Castiel's shirt just barely held against him by how they were tucked into his pants.

He pulled the shirt loose, baring his skin to Dean's hungry eyes, and turned around to hang up the shirt as well.

As he'd anticipated, Dean didn't let him get further than that. Suddenly Dean was behind him, his hard, broad chest slamming into Castiel's back and forcing a low 'oof' out of the once-Angel. The Hunter sounded like he was purring, baring his teeth against Castiel's neck as his fingers splayed out, warm and tan, across Castiel's stomach, forcing the Angel back against his body so Castiel could feel every line of Dean against him.

"I'm pretty sure this is not the intended use of these rooms," Castiel just managed to get out, his words muffled slightly and the seriousness of his reprimand ruined with his small, indulgent smile. Dean chuckles against the back of his neck, fingers greedy and quick when they move down to Castiel's slacks, undoing the button and zip and pushing them down the Angel's thighs.

Castiel sucked in a quick breath when Dean's large, warm palm settled over his half-hard cock – it only took a few touches for him to fully harden and again Castiel was amazed at how his body interpreted the sensation of Dean's callous-rough hands against the fabric, the pressure against his skin. He bucked forward, seeking more, and was rewarded with another one of Dean's low, whiskey-gravel laughs.

The Angel turned his head to one side, teeth sinking sharply into his lower lip to stop him making a sound – the fitting rooms are far from empty and even now he could hear the footsteps of other men coming into and leaving the stalls. Anyone could happen upon them and the thrill sent a little shiver up and down his spine. He lifted his hands, flattening them against the wall, and pushes his ass back against Dean's crotch, able to feel the Hunter's erection on the back of his thigh.

Dean sucked in a tight breath, a low curse tailing his exhale as he dropped to his knees, fingers hooking into Castiel's underwear and dragging them down to join his slacks.

The Hunter's warm breath skated across Castiel's thighs and ass, burning hot and callous-rough fingers gently parting his cheeks, and Castiel quivered in anticipation of the warm, wet sensation of Dean's tongue there. They'd only done this a couple of times, mostly because a lot of their sex was _hardfast_nowand Dean wasn't normally so toppy. The first caress of Dean's tongue against his hole startled a sound out of the Angel, his thighs tensing up from pleasure and his fingers curling into fists against the thin wall. Dean grinned and placed a gentle nip to Castiel's cheek, then dove in to lick again, deeper this time, his tongue dipping inside the furled muscle of Castiel's hole and coaxing it to relax. One hand remained holding Castiel open, while the other snaked forward between his Angel's legs, spread as wide as he could get them, still hobbled as he was, and Dean stroked deftly with two fingers behind Castiel's balls, along his perineum. Castiel had to bite his fingers to muffle his shout.

_"Dean_," he whispered, already getting out of breath and needy, his hips subtly rocking forwards and backwards and down to get the sensation everywhere. "Dean, _please_."

"Hush now," Dean replied, letting his breath just wash over Castiel's damp, sensitive skin, before he sucked a finger into his mouth and, when it was nice and wet, pushed it in alongside his tongue. Castiel groaned quietly, thighs tense and trembling, head hanging between his shoulders and braced against the wall. His cock hung, thick and hard and already so flushed with need, between his legs. "Don't want anyone to hear us, now, do we?"

Castiel stifled another frustrated, pained sound, when Dean's finger curled _just right_ inside of him, trapping his prostate between Dean's fingers inside and out. The Hunter rubbed mercilessly against the sensitive gland, his tongue still going deep inside of Castiel, licking him open again when Castiel tensed up, pleasure making his vision go white.

He came with a harsh shudder, hands white-knuckled against the wall, sweat dampening his brow and making his hair stick to his forehead and neck. Dean grinned in victory while Castiel shook and shivered his way through orgasm, getting to his feet and nosing along the back of Castiel's sweaty neck. He moved his fingers from Castiel's ass to his hips, driving the Angel back against Dean's still-clothed erection, and Castiel just stood there, gathering his breath while the delicious burn of Dean's rough jeans against his sensitive skin kept him pliant and willing.

"Gonna have to get you new pants, too," Dean muttered with no small amount of amusement, and Castiel shivered when he felt Dean go still behind him. The Hunter pulled away and Castiel dropped to his knees in time to swallow Dean down and milk Dean through his orgasm with his mouth, one of the Hunter's large, steady hands cupping the back of his head while he swallowed. _"Fuck_," he whispered when Castiel tongued at the head, the Angel's pale fingers coming up to dig into Dean's thighs, preventing him from pulling away. _"Fuck, _Cas, too sensitive," the Hunter argued, pushing lightly at Castiel's cheek.

The Angel smirked, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Serves you right," he replied, rising gracefully to his feet. He pulled his underwear and slacks up around his hips and realized that Dean was right – there was now a very questionable stain on the crotch. The coat would hide it but it would still be better to get new ones.

Dean chuckled softly, his cheeks still flushed from arousal and his shirt clinging to him, slightly damp from sweat. He bent down to pick up the shirt that Castiel had accidentally knocked off the hook. "We are _so _getting this," he whispered, grinning and leaning forward for a chaste, but long, kiss against the corner of Castiel's mouth. "It's time I taught you about sense memory."

Castiel frowned for a moment, wondering what that could mean, but then Dean was leaving. He hurriedly dressed also and followed Dean's lust-heavy scent, and found him with Sam in the men's jeans department. Already he had several pairs in hand, and, Castiel noted, more shirts.

"Hey, Cas," Sam said happily in greeting. "Dean pointed out you needed some new clothes. Is there anything in particular you like or had an affinity for?"

Castiel paused a moment. "I like blue," he finally said, and Dean smirked behind Sam's back.

"I do, too," he said with a barely disguised leer.

Maybe Black Friday shopping wasn't so bad after all.


	25. Angel Physiology 101

**Title:** Angel Physiology 101  
><strong>Author: <strong>highermagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** Angel!Dean/Doctor!Castiel  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None. AU.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> excessive wing!kink and heat!kink and oil!kink, self-lubrication, and medical lectures.  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~7,000  
><strong>Summary:<strong>The Angel's feathers were starting to stand up on the top edge, making himself appear larger to intimidate an enemy and Castiel resisted the urge to smooth them down. "Thank you so much for volunteering for this. I'm so proud and grateful."  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Totally haven't checked it 'cause I'm too damn lazy and I want to go to bed. So…

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><p>The delicate chains clinked softly in the quiet, semi-empty lecture hall. Castiel turned, looking towards the Angel who was crouched down defensively on the podium. The chains threaded from the high ceiling, into two bars that had a closed loop on one end and a flat, rounded head on the other. They threaded through holes drilled through the carpal joints of an Angel like stretcher earrings when the Angel was a few months old – a painless procedure for most.<p>

He knew the restraints were largely unnecessary, and the ugly bulk of the chains and carabineers detracted from the Angel's naturally beautiful wings, but they were for the demonstration and he couldn't risk Dean getting too nervous to ruin the lecture.

Smiling gently, he walked up the stairs to the main podium and made his way over to his Angel. Thin, pale fingers threaded through the thick down at the base of Dean's wings and the Angel jolted, turning with a soft gasp to find Castiel with his wide, nervous green eyes.

Dean licked his lips, his wings shifting restlessly above him, dead weight in the restraints. His eyes flashed to the clock. "Not long now," he said.

"Nope," Castiel replied, smiling and stepping a little closer, his free hand cupping Dean's face while the other moved up under his wing, gently coaxing a few stray feathers back into place. He could feel his mate's wings tremble under his touch, the Angel nervous but trying to appear calm. His feathers were starting to stand up on the top edge, making himself appear larger to intimidate an enemy and he resisted the urge to smooth them down. "Thank you so much for volunteering for this. I'm so proud and grateful."

"Wouldn't want you touching another Angel," Dean confessed, casting his eyes down and earning a smile from the man.

Dean licked his lips again, eyes cast out to the empty room. There were enough chairs to sit thirty or so people and he shuddered at the thought of so many eyes on him, taking notes and listening and watching everything as his mate would go through Angel physiology with them. That's what he got for dating a cross-species doctor.

"Hey." His attention was caught again when Castiel brushed a thumb over his cheek, tilting the Angel's head to look into sincere, loving blue eyes. "It'll only be an hour – one hour you'll have to put up with me."

Dean snorted a laugh at that, rolling his green eyes, but Castiel was heartened by the smile that remained on his mate's lips. Then, the door at the top of the room banged open and people began to file in, just as the bell rang. At once the Angel was tense, fingers curling up into fists and eyes downcast.

"Can't we at least take these damn things off?" he muttered, wings flaring up high and then back down to emphasize his point as the chains clinked obscenely loudly.

Castiel sighed, brushing another hand through his mate's hair. "I know it sucks, but I know you, too, Dean – you wouldn't let me touch your wings if they weren't there. You get too nervous." He smiled gently, shrugging one shoulder. "Not sure why; you're gorgeous."

The pretty flush on his mate's cheeks was enough to make Castiel want to touch him in ways that were purely _non_-medical, but he resisted, fingers curling slightly into the thick feathers on the top ridge of his mate's wings before he stepped away and turned to face the class. The last few stragglers were coming in and taking their places, settling into place with their tape recorders and notebooks out, ready and waiting to learn.

When the door swung shut and the last seat was filled, he straightened, looking out over the small sea of medical interns. "Morning, everyone," he said with a slight smile and a dip of his head. "I'm Doctor Novak and I'll be your primary attending this year in your Angel physiology and behavioral studies.

I'd like to take a moment to thank Dean, who kindly volunteered to be our case study for this quarter." He gestured behind him to the chained Angel who was staring out at the sea of faces looking back at him, feathers rustling quietly at his sides. "Are there any questions before we get started?"

One of the hands rose in the air, coming from a short, thin-faced man with honey-blond hair and sharp hazel eyes. "Yes?" Castiel asked.

"What're the chains for?" the man asked, lowering his hand again.

Castiel smiled, looking up to the chains and then he moved to a small crank behind the lectern, winding it a few times so the chain lowered and allowed Dean's wing to fall more at eye level to most of the class. "Typically Angels, once they are past their first year of maturity, get these –" He carefully unhooked the carabineer from around one of Dean's wings, letting it drop, and picked up the wing again by the bar, carefully cradling it in his hands. "- stretchers. They are drilled just under the carpal joint so that the bone can repair itself along with the wing growth. It's actually the strongest part of the wing by the time it stops growing.

The restraints are purely so that we can observe the wing today, and for the rest of the quarter. When feeling cornered or exposed, Angels will typically fold themselves in their wings because the underside is the most sensitive, vulnerable part of them and they feel like they need to protect it. The chains will keep Dean from folding his wings so that we can observe him today."

He then reattached the carabineer to the loop of the bar, hoisting Dean's wing back into place. His mate was shaking very slightly, feathers rustling nervously and he wasn't looking at the class anymore, but down, focusing on the table he was crouched on. Castiel frowned, a small crease forming between his brows, and walked over so that he could stand by Dean's head, and brushed one hand across his mate's shoulder, wanting to comfort him without showing an undue amount of affection in class – they didn't need anyone getting the wrong idea about how appropriate it was to interact with an Angel patient, even though Angels by nature were more affectionate than humans.

"Before the anti-slavery act," he continued, petting once more through Dean's hair and then leaning against the table, hands braced behind him, close enough that Dean's fingers could brush over his, "it was common practice to use Angel wing stretchers to trap and restrain Angels for the underground pornography business, or to keep them docile and unable to fly away. Their wings were also clipped regularly." He swallowed, noticing how Dean tensed behind him, and took a deep breath, forcing himself to remain professional as he dragged his hands through Dean's wings again, stretching them out for the class to see.

He went through the different kinds of feathers on a wing and what they were for, how the wing moved and how to tell if there was something wrong with them. "There are very fine bones in an Angel's wings towards the outer edge," he explained, taking one of Dean's longer flight feathers and holding it under the projector, massaging between the thick feathers until one of Dean's long spines were fully extended. "These are rendered largely obsolete by today's society, like a human's appendix, but way back when, Angels used to use these to hook into the ground or cliff-sides when they mated."

Dean flushed at that, catching the small smirks on some of the students' faces, and jerked his wing away from Castiel's grip, folding it as tight to his side as the chains would allow. Castiel didn't show any sign of noticing or being caught off-guard, but his eyes did flash in concern when he turned from the class, resetting the projector – or pretending to.

"Doctor Novak?" one student spoke up, raising her hand and Dean's eyes flashed to her, swallowing. She quickly flipped to a page in her notes, frowning a little when Castiel turned to address her. "I remember reading somewhere that there are dominant and submissive Angels. How can you tell?"

Dean didn't think it was possible, but his blush deepened and he tried to pull his wings closer to himself, growling in frustration when he couldn't. The chains clinked obnoxiously loudly in response to his aborted movements.

"That's a good question, Anna," Castiel replied smoothly. "With Dean's permission, I'll show you."

Bright, sharp blue eyes fixed on Dean, and he swallowed, resisting the urge to curl up on himself. He didn't want to – knew what the difference between a dominant's and submissive's wings were, and he wasn't sure he would handle Castiel touching and _showing_ them right now. He was on edge, feathers bristling up in response to a fight, and he wanted his mate's touch, but not with _witnesses_.

He swallowed again, and nodded towards Castiel, forcing a smirk to his face. "Be gentle, it's my first time," he quipped, earning a few chuckles from the students, and Castiel smiled indulgently at him.

"Of course," Castiel replied with a professional nod of his head, but Dean was still smirking. He carefully raised his head and scented the air, nostrils flaring. The scent of his mate's pheromones was one he knew well, Castiel's lust a heavy fog in the air when he breathed in. His wings twitched again, arching higher and exposing his oil glands beneath, and he watched as Castiel's eyes went dark.

The Doctor swallowed, stepping towards Dean and trying to hide the growing erection between his thighs, heat pooling low at the sign of submission and trust Dean was showing him. "There are two main differences between a dominant and submissive Angel," he began, voice already getting lower and rougher as he stepped forward the winch, cracking it a few times until Dean's wings were raised high enough that keeping them there naturally would have been very uncomfortable for the Angel. As it was, he didn't have to hold their weight up and let himself go lax, curling up on the table. "Submissive Angels have two sets of oil glands, and can self-lubricate." Castiel paused for a moment, looking up towards the class, and then gestured for them to rise and come forward. "All of you, come see the different sets. But no touching."

Dean tensed up with a low growl when the students got to their feet and began to shuffle down the steps from the raised desks and chairs to the podium. The Angel's feathers bristled up higher and his wings jerked, trying to fold to his flanks but the chains stopped him doing that.

"Don't fuckin' let them touch me," he demanded, fingers curling into fists where he pressed them against the desk.

Castiel smiled slightly, but his eyes were dark when he allowed himself a moment to stroke his palm across Dean's cheek. "Never, beloved."

The students gathered closer and Castiel carefully brushed his hand against the soft, thick down at the base of Dean's wings. "Dean is a submissive Angel, and he will have two sets of oil glands," he said, his voice growing lower when he realized that Dean's wings were already very damp with fresh oil. "Here…" He stepped forward, careful to try and let everyone see, and carefully pushed down a few of the smaller feathers, revealing one of the hard, honey-colored walnut-sized gland. "This is the lubrication gland. It produces oil that allows Angels to groom themselves and each other. The oil keeps their feathers in good condition and prevents them from getting dirty, for the most part."

Castiel swallowed again, his hands trembling minutely as he combed the feathers back into place, and moved his hands towards Dean's sensitive secondary glands. He could feel his mate trembling, and Dean was burning up, his breathing too even and low like he was breathing deep to try and control himself. "The, ah, secondary glands are a lot harder to find…" he began, his throat going dry at the scent of Dean's oil, the Angel producing oil from his second glands despite himself, the submissive part of him responding to his dominant mate's touch. Dean whined softly, wings shifting up higher to allow Castiel more access, trusting and begging and wanting. "They are very sensitive in a submissive Angel – they are designed to create oil that arouses potential mates, and act as a claim when their mate touches their oil and marks themselves with it."

There was a cough from the back of the students, and the honey-blonde man raised his hand again. "Yes?" Castiel asked.

"Shouldn't you be wearing gloves or something?" he asked curiously.

Castiel smiled, figuring this question would come up. He nodded to himself, distracted momentarily from the task of finding Dean's second glands. In truth, he knew the place they were located by touch memory and feel alone, and even if he didn't have that, Dean's flanks were _soaked_, and they would be easily found as the source. "Normally I would – an Angel courting and claiming is very serious and very private. That is why my mate would allow for no other Angel to take his place today in the demonstration."

He paused a moment, waiting for that to sink in. "It is also why I am allowing no one to touch his wings at this point in the demonstration."

A few people – the people Castiel may or may not give extra credit to at the end of the course – took a step away when they realized that Castiel was talking about the Angel on the table. The rest, however, merely kept their eyes going between Castiel's hands and his face, and the Angel's face, already getting flushed and sweaty, hair sticking to his temples and the back of his neck. "An Angel's glands are capable of getting infection, however, so you will need to know where they are. Like a prostate or cervical exam. Here." He pulled a few of the dripping feathers apart, baring the midnight-black raisin-sized gland for people to lean in and see. "This is a healthy gland. Sizes and coloration can vary, but the most common infection is like a typical yeast infection in humans. Does anyone know what one of the symptoms to look for is?"

Redhead raised her hand. "Yes, Anna?"

"White starchy deposits?" the woman half-asked, and Castiel nodded and smiled, letting Dean's feathers settle back into place.

"Very good. An Angel will also produce an excess of oil to try and clean them out when infected, like when the tear ducts try and wash out the eye. It can be very painful for them sometimes and can become very serious is left untreated." He was still absently petting through his mate's feathers, enjoying the silky-smooth slide of them through his fingers, coated in a fine sheen of oil, and how Dean trembled and panted under his touch. The Angel's shirt was completely stuck to his back and sides, wet with oil like a second skin now, showing off his muscled back and the sharp curve of his ribcage. Castiel licked his lips, wanting to touch, to taste – the bell's shrill ringing brought him out of his thoughts.

"Well, class," he said shortly, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore how the very air was saturated with Dean's scent, "that'll be all for today. Get on and I'll see you tomorrow morning."

It seemed to take forever while the students packed their things and filed up out of the door. Castiel's fingers clenched a little into fists behind his back as he watched them leave, the chains attached to Dean's wings clinking softly as the Angel shifted. Finally, the door swung closed and Castiel turned around, breathing hard when he saw Dean watching him, waiting, the Angel's green eyes almost completely overtaken by black pupils, his cheeks flushed, brow sweaty. God, he was beautiful.

"Thought they'd never leave," he whispered, and then groaned when Castiel threw himself at his mate, fingers clenching tightly in Dean's thick, short hair and kissing him. His fingers were slicked with oil and he was sure he was getting it everywhere, but with the taste of Dean in his mouth and the scent of him all over, Castiel couldn't find it in himself to care.

_"Cas_," the Angel whined, his wings flaring up high as he tried to steady himself, tried to sit back on his haunches so he could reciprocate, pull his mate towards him and underneath him, touch him the way he had been touched, cover his mate with oil and claim him all over again. "Please, come here, get these…" He jerked his wings again, chains rattling loudly.

"Hmm…" Castiel purred, eyes half-lidded as he stared at his mate's face, petting his oil-and-sweat-slick hair back and away from his forehead. "God, I love you like this," he whispered, leaning forward again, the dry, open drag of his lips against Dean's own enough to illicit and low, pained whine from the Angel. "You smell like you're going into heat, baby, why didn't you tell me?"

Dean, if possible, blushed harder, averting his eyes and lowering his head submissively, while Castiel pressed his jaw against Dean's temple. The Angel's wings jerked again in an aborted movement when long, pale fingers began to pet through his feathers.

"I didn't…" Dean flushed again, wings trembling. "I didn't realize until you started to touch me. Please, Cas, please, I can't -."

"I have to do another lecture in twenty minutes, Dean," Castiel whispered, his voice low and stern enough to be warning. "Another Angel lecture. You knew this when you signed up." Dean let out a low, desperate whine, his eyes clenched tightly shut, and Castiel smiled slightly when he saw the first few puddles of oil forming around Dean's knees, the oil soaking the legs of his jeans and making them cling to his thighs. "Getting wet for me, baby?"

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a strangled moan as the Angel buried his face against Castiel's chest, his warm breath puffing out hard and fast, his wings bristled and glistening with arousal. He was so beautiful, strung out like this, and Castiel wanted nothing more than to unhook Dean's wings and pull him into the closest storage room or on-call room and have his wicked way with him. Unfortunately, Castiel's job demanded that he stay in the room with Dean and continue to lecture.

All day.

"Want something to take the edge off?" Castiel whispered, moving from Dean's head, down his flank. One hand buried itself in the thick tawny-gold-black feathers, the other reached between his mate's legs, palming the obvious line of his throbbing cock. He groaned, feeling how soaking wet Dean was and how hard he was, even when the Angel whined and spread his legs further, lowering himself closer to the table surface as instinct demanded of him, to be mounted and fucked.

Within a moment Dean was shuddering, warmth spreading out against Castiel's hand as he came with a low groan. He was breathing like he'd been flying all day, sweaty and oil-slicked already, and Castiel swallowed and barely resisted the urge to bury his face in Dean's feathers and jack himself off, marking his mate in return. How in the world were the two of them meant to get through today, Dean in heat and already so desperate and strung out on his mating pheromones, and Castiel – not that far behind, if he was honest with himself.

He quickly unhooked his mate's wings and hauled Dean up, over to the shower. Luckily, he had anticipated this and had a spare change of clothes for Dean and had chosen the only lecture hall where there was a bathroom across the hall with one of the old crappy no-one-uses-these-anymore-but-we-can't-take-it-out showers. "Clean yourself up, Dean," he said gently, coaxing his mate into the shower and turning on the spray. The Angel shivered, his wings becoming sodden and even more soaking with the jets of water, and Castiel busied himself with grabbing a few ratty towels and a spare change of Dean's clothes. He also washed his hands and made sure he was rid of any and all oil from his skin to stop himself getting too distracted for the next series of lectures.

A low moan stopped him in his tracks when he stepped back into the bathrooms. He paused, eyes wide and gasped when he saw Dean through a gap in the shower curtain. The Angel had his wings mostly curled around himself, feathers heavy with water and oil, but the position wasn't enough to disguise the fast, harsh pumping of his own hand around his cock. His head was thrown back, eyes clenched tightly shut, the water beating down on his back and neck and running in thick rivulets down his shoulders, chest and wings. Castiel swallowed, licking his lips, his mouth gone dry as he watched his mate pleasure himself.

"Dean," he whispered, catching the Angel's attention. Eyes so green they almost glowed snapped to his and the Angel licked his lips again, his hand speeding up around himself. Castiel swallowed when another hand went behind him. Castiel didn't need to see to know what Dean was doing – the slight hitch of breath, the way his lashes fluttered with pleasure and his mouth went slack when he pushed the first finger into himself. "God damn it…"

"_Cas_," the Angel replied, falling forward so he was braced against the shower wall, facing Castiel. His hand left his cock to hold himself up, mindlessly pumping his hips forward as he concentrated on getting another finger inside of himself. "'M so fucking wet, man – gonna soak that whole damn lecture hall."

Castiel sucked in a sharp breath, his hand reaching down to palm himself through his scrubs. God, but he wasn't going to last any more than Dean was. "Saw you," he replied, eyes hooded as he sank his teeth into his lower lip, watching Dean's body go rigid, wings tensing and curling tightly in to himself as he jabbed at his prostate. "God, Dean, you looked so fucking hot. Was all I could do not to slam you down on that damn table and fuck you, right in front of all those medical students."

"I would've –_ shit_," Dean gasped, eyes clenching tightly shut, shoulders tense and wings trembling. "I would've begged you – need you in me, want it so badly." He reached back further, his far wing flaring up high to allow him room as he tried to get a third finger inside, but the angle was too awkward and he couldn't go deep enough like that, and he let out a broken sound of frustration, opening his glowing eyes and snapping them to Castiel's face. "Damn it, Cas, I don't think I can -."

"Dean," Castiel interrupted, and the young Angel shuddered at the sound of his mate's powerful voice – the whiskey and sex 'I'm gonna eat you alive' drawl and low rasp that Castiel used whenever he was turned on. It hit Dean hard, that voice, and he trembled harder, his cock twitching where it hung, hot and heavy, between his legs. "Come, baby."

Just like that. That was all it took – Castiel's permission, his order. Dean's body obeyed instantly, the Angel sagging against the shower wall as his cock spasmed, spurting his release all over the wall only to have it be washed away by the water. Castiel knew from experience that Dean would be clenching on the inside, too, his walls so slick and tight to milk an Alpha's cock for its seed. He licked his lips, wanting to taste and feel Dean clenching around him.

But they didn't have time.

Dean was panting heavily by the time he managed to push himself upright, his mouth all slack, body loose and still very slightly shaking from his orgasm. He looked completely strung out, mating pheromones so potent that even the shower wasn't washing them away and the whole bathroom stank of them. Castiel swallowed, forcing himself to remain control when those glowing jade eyes fixed on him.

"I…" Dean trailed off, the high blush on his cheeks so pretty when he bit into his bottom lip and averted his eyes. Amazing, how Dean could still be so shy after their many years together.

Castiel smiled. "I've left some clothes and towels here for you. Clean up and get changed as soon as you can, and I'll focus on trying not to scar the next class." Dean's laughter followed him out of the door and across the hall. Castiel checked himself again to be sure that there were no lingering oil stains on him anywhere, and then set about wiping down the chains and table of Dean's oil, spraying air freshener so that most of the smell was covered by the clear, sharp smell of disinfectant. They had about ten more minutes before the next class started when Dean came back inside, wet hair sticking up every which way, fresh clothes on already starting to soak through.

"Sorry," he murmured, blushing a little when Castiel's eyes immediately went to his damp flanks. "I can't control it…"

"I know, baby," Castiel replied, smiling and drawing his mate forward for a chaste kiss. "Thank you, still, for staying with me. I know this will be hard but I'll make it worth your while."

"It's either here and actually have you touch me or go home and make do with my own hand until you get home. I'd rather be here," Dean replied with a one-shouldered shrug, nuzzling against Castiel's cheek with a small smile. "You smell _awesome_," he noted, snuffling into his mate's neck.

"Of course I do, I smell like you," Castiel replied with a laugh, pushing at Dean's head until the Angel released him with a huff. "Up on the table, I need to restrain you again."

"Kinky," Dean replied with a grin, his wings fluttering playfully and Castiel rolled his eyes, cranking the winch down again until the chains descended and he reattached Dean's wings before pulling them up again.

At that moment the door to the top of the classroom opened and several more students began to file in. Castiel checked his watch – they were a little early, but not too bad. He kept his attention on properly attaching Dean's chains until he felt his mate go completely rigid beside him. Curious and worried, he looked to Dean's face, found the young Angel's nostrils flared wide, his eyes glowing more brightly than they had before. His wings, exposed as they were, bristled in a mix of fear and arousal.

"Dean?" he asked cautiously, pressing his warm hand against his mate's shoulder.

"There's a dominant Angel," Dean replied, flashing scared eyes over to Castiel, who looked up to see what Dean was talking about. Sure enough, there was – tall, pale with silver-grey hair and bright, piercing blue eyes, his wings arching high over his head with the classic 'hooks' at the carpal joints – unstretched joints, Castiel saw. Dean began to shake, following his gaze and locking with that of the other Angel's. The chains groaned loudly when Dean tried to tuck his wings back to his sides, to hide his exposed underside.

Castiel placed a hand on the back of his neck. "I'll go talk to him," he whispered, understanding now why Dean was in such distress – with the way he was displayed, in heat as he was, it looked like a full-on proposition to the dominant Angel. "It's okay, Dean, I won't let anything happen to you."

Dean swallowed, eyes wide and afraid, his body curling in on itself as much as it could in his position, and Castiel hurriedly turned away, taking the stairs two at a time until he reached the desk the Angel had chosen. He recognized the face from his roster – Balthazar.

"Your mate's in heat," Balthazar said by way of greeting, smiling up at Castiel.

The doctor nodded, pressing his lips together. "Is this going to be a problem?" he asked, his voice a little harsher than he'd meant it to be, but honestly his possessiveness of Dean ran thick enough without adding the strain of 'in heat' and 'dominant Angel' to it.

To his relief, the Angel laughed and shook his head. "Nah," he said, waving his hand. "I have a mate of my own. Yours is very pretty, but if I cheated on him he'd cut my junk off and make me eat it."

"Okay," Castiel replied, blinking, at a loss of anything else to say. "Well, good." He then turned around and made his way back to the table.

Dean blinked up at him, still tense and fearful. "Smell," Castiel whispered, holding out one of the halves of his lab coat which he knew would have taken some of the Angel's scent. Dean obediently nuzzled into it, letting the fabric drag across his cheek and forehead as he inhaled. "He's mated," Castiel said, and Dean nodded, humming softly, his body relaxing as he took in a mix of his mate's scent and the dominant's mate also. The scent of another submissive helped to calm and relax him, his feathers falling neatly back into place on his wings. Castiel smiled and brushed a hand through Dean's hair in praise, wishing he would reassure and love his mate as his pheromones are calling out for him to do – but the last student had arrived and he had to begin the lecture.

"Morning, everyone," he said a little too brightly. "My name is Doctor Novak, and I'll be your primary attending…"

The lecture passed slowly – too slowly for Dean, who felt like he was burning up from the inside. Every shift of weight, every movement of one of Castiel's hands through the air as he talked, or through his feathers, or the lulling, dark, deep sound of his voice…Dean wasn't exactly known for his restraint at the best of times, and by the time the second lecture finished he was just about ready to start peeling off his skin simply because any sensation would be better than feeling this _heat_, this big, heavy, unsatisfied need curling up in his stomach, in his cock, making kneeling here and not being able to do anything about it a downright agony.

"Not for nothing," Balthazar said at the end of the lecture, coming up and grabbing Castiel's wrist. "But you should really take him home. Or at least take him somewhere out of the way for a while during lunch. He's, um…" The Angel stopped, taking in a slight breath, and that was all Castiel needed to know. "I happen to know that there are three Angels in the next lecture and only one of them is mated. Even then…"

"I understand," Castiel replied after a second, not daring to let his eyes move to his soaking, needy mate. He might just snap and take Dean right here – the scent of the submissive Angel was driving him wild even with his paltry human senses. "I'll see you tomorrow." The Angel nodded, smiling a little, and turned to leave. He was the last one out of the door.

_"Cas_." Dean's needy voice shattered all pretense for control when the man turned back around. God, but Dean was gorgeous – his jeans were stuck to his thighs, slick from his ass and wings soaking his clothes so that it was more like a second skin than actual clothes.

"God, Dean," Castiel whispered in reply, crossing the distance to his mate in two short strides and palming the base of his wings roughly, earning a reedy little whine from the Angel. "Sorry, baby, so sorry – can't wait -."

"Don't want you to. Fuck me, Cas," Dean said, arching his back and flaring his wings high, arms stretched out to curl over the edge of the table as he spread his legs as far as they could go and presented to Castiel. The man bit back a low growl of want, hooking his fingers in Dean's slick clothes and pulling him back so his ass was just off the edge of the low table.

"Stand, Dean," he growled sharply and the submissive Angel's shoulders bowed, his legs carefully but quickly sliding off the wet table and hitting the ground. He locked his knees and braced himself that way, Castiel wasting no time in peeling off his clothes and baring Dean's slick entrance to the cool air of the lecture hall.

Dean shivered, the air feeling like ice against his overheated skin. "Please, Cas," he whined, fingers curling into the table hard enough to crack the varnish when Castiel didn't immediately touch him – God, he just needed. Didn't even need prep; his entrance was slick and loose, ready for his Alpha's cock but Castiel just _wasn't giving it to him_. _"Come on…"_

"Easy, baby," Castiel replied, his hand warm right between Dean's wings on the center of his back. The Angel mewled, a broken sound spilling from his mouth, his wings and body trembling with the effort to hold still, to wait for his mate. "Just wanna…wanna make this last…" Dean's eyes fell closed when finally – _God, finally – _he felt the blunt head of Castiel's cock tease at his entrance, the slick allowing him to slip inside easily like a knife through hot butter. _"Shit_, didn't want it to be over too soon."

"That's what round two's are for," Dean snapped in reply, arching his back to try and force Castiel to do deeper. The man hissed, his fingers gripping into Dean's hips tightly, cupping the spur as he rocked forward tighter into his mate's tight, wet heat. "God _damn it_, Cas -." The rest of the sentence was cut off by a low moan when Castiel bottomed out with a sharp thrust, their skin slapping together in the otherwise quiet room. Dean's whole body was positively _glowing_ in satisfaction. "That's it…"

"You like that?" Castiel whispered, leaning forward to brace both his hands into Dean's thickly meshed feathers, tugging them just hard enough to elicit a low whine out of his mate, a point of leverage when he pulled out and thrust forward again, harder – hard enough to make Dean's stomach slide across the table edge, the rough burn a counterpoint to the burning _need_ in his ass and settled low in the base of his spine.

"Cas," he begged again, whining loudly when the man thrust again, hitting his prostate and staying there while one oil-slick hand reached around and started jacking the young Angel quickly. "Cas Cas Cas…" That was it – a constant litany of the man's name while Dean desperately shoved his head against the table, a low sound of need wrenched from him as he tensed up completely.

Slick gushed out from Dean's untouched glands and Castiel reached for them, milking them as he rolled his hips deeper into his mate, riding out Dean's orgasm as he fought back his own. Dean trembled underneath him, low mewls and desperate cries of his name muffled by the tabletop as he tensed, relaxed, flared his wings high.

"I got you, baby," Castiel whispered to the soft feathers by his face as he bent over his mate, licking at a stray clump of down and making Dean whimper softly. "That's it, easy…"

"I…" Dean gasped as another painful aftershock flashed through him, arching away from Castiel's touch, chains loudly clinking as he tried to curl up in his wings and hide the sensitive underside. "What are you doing?"

"We have three more lectures after lunch," Castiel whispered in reply. "I need to milk you, Dean – it'll make the ache easier."

"That's a bunch of -." Dean moaned, cutting himself off as Castiel pressed extra hard, forcing more oil from the glands, sucked dry and now no larger than the seed of an apple. "You haven't…" Dean shifted, able to still feel Castiel fully seated inside of him. "Cas -."

He stuttered when Castiel, suddenly and without warning, pulled out of him. The Angel whined, struggling to stand properly and see where his mate had gone, but his weak and shaking arms wouldn't support him and then suddenly there was the weight of his tired wings on top of him as well. He collapsed back onto the table, trembling, sweaty and covered in oil.

Before he could recover, Castiel was back, his hands just as demanding and greedy when he laid them on Dean – his flanks and hips – and thrust back inside. "Oh _God_," Dean moaned, gripping the edges of the table tightly and trying not to let himself get slammed into the edge. _"Cas_."

"Didn't want you…" Castiel panted, thrusting deep into Dean and pulling back out just as quickly, selfish with his own orgasm now, Dean's body so pliant and loose and willing and needy, clenching down on his cock to try and milk him, breed him. "…strung up like that, like a demonstration or tool or something…" Castiel bent forward, his warm breath on the back of Dean's neck, hands braced, slick and sliding, on the tabletop next to Dean's, the Angel lacing their hands together to stop Castiel from losing his balance. "Wanted you just like this – so gorgeous, my gorgeous mate, all mine…"

Dean whined, tilting his hips up to receive Castiel, sensing that he was close by the rough-drag of his voice down Dean's spine, the way Castiel pressed his stubble-rough jaw hard against the back of Dean's neck, teeth bared and biting, claiming.

_He'll be so messy_, Dean thought through the delirious haze of his heat, before Castiel slammed home, coming with a low, dark growl that sent a shiver down Dean's spine, his body practically sighing in pleasure as he felt his Alpha's seed fill him, his in-heat body telling him to breed. The sheer relief when that need was sated usually made the whole damn heat bearable.

After a moment, Dean shifted, his wings falling, limp and weak, down his flanks and onto the floor. "Thank God for lunchtime," he muttered, words still slurring like he was drunk. Castiel choked on a soft laugh.

"Yeah." He nuzzled into the back of his mate's neck, licking at Dean's sweat-damp hair, making the Angel purr and arch under him when his hands moved to Dean's chest, pressed up so he could feel more lines of his mate against his body. His cock jerked one more time, spilling his last into Dean, before he was too soft to stay inside. "You hungry?" he asked, knowing Dean must at least be dehydrated from the amount of oil he was leaking.

Dean hummed, too strung-out to really care that he was half-naked in a lecture hall, soaked to the core in his oil – too fucked out to give a crap about anything, really, even his own last name, let alone hunger. "Yeah," he finally said, coming to the conclusion that that gnawing feeling in his gut was not the heat resurfacing too soon, but a throb in his demanding stomach. "But I ain't movin'."

Castiel chuckled, coming around to Dean's head and hauling his lazy, fucked-out mate up so Dean was sitting on the very edge of the tabletop, loose and almost asleep, his body glowing in the post-orgasmic haze. "Let's get you cleaned up, at least," Castiel coaxed gently, brushing Dean's hair from his face and drawing his mate into a lazy kiss, mouths licking open, tongues sliding together.

"Hmm…" Dean's mouth curled into a smile, that familiar mischievous green glow starting in his eyes again. "Shower sex?" he hazarded, eyes flashing.

Castiel laughed. "If it's quick," he replied, kissing Dean again and hauling him to his feet. The Angel sucked in a breath, eyes already going dark again when Castiel stepped close and pulled his jeans and underwear back up, soaked material sticking to his skin and dragging roughly over sensitive, wet flesh. Castiel put himself away and took Dean's hand, leading him back towards that bathroom.

"Or…" Dean paused, turning Castiel around once they were inside of the bathrooms and pushing his mate up against the wall, eyes hooded and smirk large on his face, his fingers spreading out wide and warm across Castiel's chest and down his abdomen. "…we could skip lunch and I could just eat you."

"Dean -." Castiel was cut off, then, as the Angel sank to his knees right in front of the doctor, and he growled, cupping his Angel's head when Dean leaned forward, those glowing green eyes still fixed on his face, and mouthed at Castiel through his scrubs. "You're gonna kill me," he muttered, his cock twitching already in response to Dean's potent mating pheromones.

Dean's only response was a low, dark laugh, lashes fluttering as he smiled and proceeded to pull down Castiel's scrub bottoms, and anything else the doctor would have said was lost when he was engulfed by Dean's talented mouth.

Needless to say, they were a little late for the next lecture.


	26. Baby, Let Me Love You Down

**Title:**Baby, Let Me Love You Down  
><strong>Author: <strong>highermagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** Sam/Dean/Castiel  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Castiel? Okay  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> Light bondage, biting  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~5,000  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Dean is not a passive lover by anyone's standards.**  
>Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Based on one of the prompts at dirgesong's Xmas exchange; _Sam ties up Dean for Cas and teaches Cas how to please Dean. Bonus points if sizekink!Dean basically comes from his brother's dirty talk about he's going to fuck him after Cas's done._ It kind of got away from me here…hope you like it though!

* * *

><p>Dean is not a passive lover by anyone's standards. He's all tight grips and wandering hands and low, rough growls, sweat-coated skin sliding perfectly along that of his current lady-of-the-evening or, more recently, his brother and Angel. Dean is the type to slowly map out every single inch of the other person, to spend so long taking care of them and making them fall apart – like he doesn't even care about himself, like that person is the only other person in Dean's world.<p>

The fact that Sam and Castiel kind of _are_ most of what's left of Dean's world had just made him worse about it.

How Sam had managed to talk Dean into this, then, Castiel will have no idea. Unless Dean wasn't talked into it at all. This would explain the slightly confused scowl on his face from where he's glaring at them on the bed. His arms are stretched out above his head, securely tied with a length of thin black rope that, Castiel knows if Sam did it, will give even Dean a bit of trouble and require time and concentration to figure out. His legs are similarly restrained, except that inside of just tying him straight to the other two corners of the bed, Sam had instead chosen to tie Dean's ankles to his thighs as well, keeping the older Hunter out and open for them. It looks slightly uncomfortable and, again, Castiel wonders how Sam had managed that without getting a broken nose from Dean's foot.

"Sam?" he asks, frowning a little in confusion as he looks to the younger Winchester, whose eyes are on his brother, a small, affectionate smile curving his mouth for a moment.

Sam grins, then, taking Castiel's arm lightly and pulling him towards Dean on the bed. Despite the Hunter's dark, angry eyes, Castiel can see that Dean is aroused by this – his breathing and heart rate are beyond the normal and there is a flush of red down his cheeks and chest, staining his normally pale skin. His cock is flushed and hard, laying on his belly and twitches when he looks at it.

"We're gonna do something different today," Sam whispers, eyes hooded and dark as he turns towards Castiel, parks the Angel in front of him at the end of their bed, long, strong fingers settling lightly on his shoulders and dipping under the halves of his trench coat, slowly pushing it off. "Dean always takes such good care of us, don't you think, Cas?"

The Angel cocks his head to one side, but nods, not fighting Sam when the trench coat falls off his shoulders, followed by the suit jacket. No sooner do the garments fall to the floor than they reappear, neatly folded, over the back of one of the far chairs. Sam laughs.

"Look at him," he coaxes, one finger pushing lightly at Castiel's jaw, making the Angel turn his head to see Dean where he is tied down on the bed. Dean's fingers are flexing, curling around what coils of rope he can reach, his breathing picking up and Castiel can smell the scent of testosterone and oxytosin in the air, staining it a light red. The color of blood. The color of the Winchesters.

Sam's breath is warm on his neck, as he leans close to the Angel, his much larger body bracketing Castiel's in, hands still moving slowly over Castiel's shoulders, down his arms and across his back, feeling the lines of his vessel under the thin white shirt. "He's beautiful, isn't he?" Sam whispers, loud enough for Dean to hear, Castiel guesses, by the angry flush and half-muffled noise Dean makes behind the thick fold of material in his mouth, gagging him.

Castiel's eyes close for a moment when Sam presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to his neck, sucking lightly until the skin becomes red and bears marks from his teeth. "Yes," the Angel replies, turning his head to look at Sam again, as the Winchester smiles and begins to unbutton his shirt. "Why?"

Dean makes another sound; he is curious also.

Sam chuckles, looking between the pair of them, and takes a step back, gently turning Castiel so he is facing Dean instead, Sam's long, muscled body pressed up behind him. Castiel looks tiny when standing against Sam, concealed within Sam's large arms and broad chest, and Dean makes another soft sound when Castiel's and Sam's eyes both land on him. His arms strain against the confines of the rope and his thighs flex.

"Kneel for me, Angel," he whispers, gently guiding Castiel onto the bed, kneeling up behind him so that they are both positioned between Dean's legs – the older Hunter strains his neck to try and get a look. "Do you like fucking my brother, Castiel?"

Dean goes a little tense at that and Castiel turns his head to one side, meeting Sam's eyes, and he nods, pressing his lips together and licking them in a gesture he learned from Dean, Sam knows. The younger Hunter smiles.

"I do, too," he replies, green-blue eyes flashing to Dean's face for a moment, his smile growing. "I like how good he always is, how willing to please and almost desperate for it he gets. Don't you?"

"Yes, Sam," Castiel replies, affected by the younger man's words despite himself; he can feel his vessel's heart begin to speed up, his fingers clenching in the bed sheets on instinct, fighting back the desire to reach out and touch Dean. He recognizes that Sam is the Alpha here, and is trying to make a point. Still, Castiel presses close to the younger Winchester's larger, warmer bulk, like an affectionate cat, his eyes darkening and half-lidded.

"Mm…" Sam smiles, tilting his head to lightly kiss Castiel, his hand knotting in the Angel's hair and curling securely around the back of his neck as they kiss, slow slides of tongue and teeth as Sam presses Castiel down – despite the fact that Castiel is an Angel, that he is much stronger and more powerful than either Dean or Sam could imagine, he still submits, lets himself be molded and shaped to Sam's will because he knows Sam will take care of him. And Dean.

Sam pulls away, breathing hard, and Dean gives a soft little whine, his position preventing him from arching his hips up because of how his legs are tied together and then to the bed. He smiles up at his older brother. "Yeah," he whispers, voice getting low and gravel-rough as he leans in, presses his cheek against Dean's thigh, tickling him with his hair. "I like how much he needs to please us, Cas, I really do. But I also like making him lose control." The sharp, predatory slant of his eyes makes Castiel shiver, the low rustle of wings spreading echoing in the pant-broken air between them. "Would you like to help me do that, Angel?"

Castiel's assent is more eager and forceful than he had intended, but judging by the smirk on Sam's face, it doesn't much matter. The younger Winchester pulls him in, a hand still on the back of his head, and he forces Dean's thighs to spread more widely until the older Hunter groans in discomfort, until both Sam and Castiel can mostly shoulder their way between his legs, Sam's body mostly blanketing the smaller Angel's.

It is then that Sam takes one of Castiel's hands, sucking it into his own mouth, and Dean's breath hitches, hearing the sound, his cock twitching in front of Castiel's face as he recognizes it, before Sam lets Castiel's finger slide from his mouth with a wet 'pop', and guides it down to between Dean legs.

"He likes being touched here," Sam whispers low in Castiel's ear, his hair falling forward and shielding his face as he lets Castiel take most of his weight, the Angel able to hold up easily, and presses Castiel's finger to the crease between Dean's hip and his thigh. Dean, predictably, shudders, a low growl coming out from behind the gag. "There was one night in Baltimore," Sam continues, rasping the words low in Castiel's ear, "when I got him off just from licking and sucking and biting this little spot. It's so sensitive for him, Angel…but you probably already knew that."

"I did remake his body, Sam," Castiel murmured with a touch of petulance, lightly curling his fingers against Dean's skin and pressing down on the pressure point he knew was there. Dean tensed, back arching in what limited way it could, and he let out a low, rough sound. The scent of his pheromones was getting incredibly distracting.

Sam laughs. "I know, Angel, I know," he whispers soothingly, moving his hand away from Castiel's wrist, up his arm, and then down his chest, nuzzling at the Angel's neck. "Let's open him up, shall we? I want to watch as you make him scream."

Both Castiel and Dean shudder at that, the Angel arching again back against Sam's chest as he moves his hand away from Dean's thigh, this time sucking his fingers into his mouth, other hand flattening out and curving along the fleshy line of Dean's ass. The Hunter sucks in a breath, body tensing under the Angel's electric touch, hips subtly canted in invitation.

Castiel lets his fingers slide out of his mouth, shiny and wet, and presses the pad of his fingertip against Dean's entrance, and the Hunter makes another frustrated sound when the Angel merely lingers there, not pushing in, not doing anything.

"Sam," Castiel whispers, a question in his voice. It seems like Sam understands.

He groans, eyes closing at the thought. "Do it."

Dean's choked-off moan is muffled behind the gag when Castiel leans in, his hands cupping Dean's ass and lifting him for the first slow, deliberate drag of Castiel's tongue over his entrance. The Hunter tenses up, his cock spurting precome at the touch against his ass, the wet, slow lick of Castiel's tongue forcing his muscles to relax. It feels _awesome_, Dean's body clenching in pleasure, trying to seek more of it, but he can't because of the way he is tied.

"Push in a finger now," Sam whispers, when he deems Dean wet enough, and Castiel obeys, the first two knuckles of his forefinger sliding in with barely a hitch, making Dean choke again, breathing hard now as he fights to keep control of himself. "That's it. Nice and deep. He likes it deep."

Castiel continues to lick at Dean's ass, tongue working in past the first tight ring of muscle, coaxing Dean to relax to accept his second finger. The Hunter is trembling very slightly around him, muscles shining in the first coat of sweat, the scent of his arousal and need pungent in the air as Castiel thrusts deep with his second finger, crooking them to find that one place that will have Dean screaming.

"Deeper, Cas," Sam encourages, taking the Angel's wrist in hand and gently coaxing him to push until the webbing of his fingers stops it going further. Castiel tilts his fingers just _perfectly_ and Dean cries out, entire body going rigid. "There we go."

Castiel smiles in satisfaction, feeling the tight clench of Dean's body around his finger's, milking them for something they cannot give. He rolls them just a fraction of an inch deeper, pressing against Dean's prostate with merciless precision until the Hunter gifts him with another of those beautiful, desperate sounds.

"When you've opened him up," Sam murmurs, voice a low growl as he nuzzles against the back of Castiel's neck, "I want you to make him come. And then I'm going to fuck him while he sucks you off, and let you paint that pretty face of his with your come." Castiel gasps, eyes fluttering closed at the image – Dean's face, flushed, sweaty, strung out, marked up with his seed and painting his beautiful lips. "I bet he'll be good right after coming, Cas, when he's all loose and willing and he'll just let you fuck his mouth, I bet. Won't you, baby?"

The question is addressed to Dean, and Castiel feels Sam's large, warm hand flatten over Dean's thigh, hooking and tugging just a little so there's a strain on Dean's shoulders. The older Winchester growls low, eyes flashing, back arching as Castiel strikes his prostate again, another dribble of precome spurting out and settling onto his stomach.

"Awfully quiet, big brother," Sam whispers, leaving Castiel for a moment. The chill air against the Angel's back is startling and he shivers, wings rustling again.

Dean glares at Sam, his gorgeous grass-green eyes dark with lust, eclipsed by the wide circle of his pupil, and he strains against his bindings, wanting to touch, to take Sam and shove him down and _fuck_ – he groans, throwing his head back as Castiel moves in to suck at Dean's thigh, the bite of teeth bringing just a light edge of pain to the sensation, and Dean moans again.

"S'm," he gasps around the edges of the gag, shoulders curling as he tries to protect himself from the onslaught of sensation from Castiel's mouth, but he can't. "C's. _Pl's." _

Sam smiles, tracing the line of Dean's gag with one of his fingers, down his big brother's throat and watches how Dean tilts his head back, trusting and wanting when Sam lays a hand across Dean's pulse. "Dean is usually so vocal, isn't he, Cas?" he asks, not waiting for an answer. "I miss it."

Then, taking pity on his panting brother, Sam carefully works the gag loose enough that it falls out of Dean's mouth and across his neck.

"Untie me," Dean immediately demands, voice low and raw with lust.

Sam smirks, cocking his head to one side. "No," he replies.

"Damn it, Sam – _Cas_." His threat is cut off in a choking gasp and he arches back again, cursing low under his breath. Sam looks down the long, stretched lines of Dean's body, to where Castiel has turned his attention to Dean's cock, lapping gently at the head with kittenish little licks, his free hand lightly circling the base to hold it up.

"He's good with his mouth, isn't he, Dean?" Sam asks, chuckling gently when Castiel, blue eyes flashing with Grace, seals him mouth around the head of Dean's cock and begins to suck – wet, loud sounds to accompany the hollowing of his cheeks and the tilting of his head as he takes more of Dean into his mouth. Sam growls low at Dean's loud moan, laying down next to his brother, his jean-clad cock pressing hard against Dean's flank. "Soon you'll get to repay the favor, baby, don't you worry," he whispers, petting down Dean's chest and flicking one of Dean's nipples gently with his fingers, forcing a whine out of his brother. "I know how much you like the taste of him."

"_Damn it_," Dean moans again, another shudder running through his body as Castiel takes more of him into his mouth, adding a third finger inside of Dean as well, and Sam's words threaten to send him over the edge way too soon. "Untie me," Dean demands, turning his face to look at his brother. "Just…let me…I need -." His words are interrupted by another low curse, Castiel crooking his fingers _perfectly_, and Dean is quivering with the effort to hold his orgasm off until one of them comes first.

Sam smiles, leaning down, and bites at Dean's earlobe, sucking gently before letting go and placing feather-light kisses to his brother's exposed neck. "It's okay, Dean," Sam whispers, his hand still stroking over Dean's chest, down to his flat stomach and the thatch of hair above his cock, able to feel Castiel's breath there when his fingers curl and dig. "You're allowed to come. I want you to come. I want to see it, want to watch the way your entire body just goes completely tense, like you're fighting it, before you give in. Go so relaxed that I could just pick you up –" Dean's breath hitched. "- and throw you anywhere."

He smirks. "You like that idea, Dean?" Sam asks, pressing a kiss against Dean's cheek, now, before joining Dean in watching the slow in-and-out of Dean's cock in Castiel's mouth. It is truly a sight, the Angel's cheeks hollowed, his lips full of bitten-red, slick with spit just as Dean's cock is when Castiel pulls up. His cheeks were slightly flushed, just stained the lightest pink, his hair standing up at all angles. He was beautiful, when his sky-blue eyes flared open and stared up at the two Winchesters, fingers tightening around Dean's cock and curling inside of the Hunter.

"When he's gotten you nice and opened up, and you've come down his throat," Sam continues, pressing the words against Dean's jaw and neck, "I'm going to untie you. Then I'm going to hold you down and fuck you while he fucks your mouth. Until you're full of both of us." He pauses when Dean's breath hitches, his hips bucking slightly, eyes wide, fists clenching. "You like that idea, Dean?"

"_Sam_." Dean blinks, eyes getting bright as he fights to retain control, clenching his jaw and swallowing, staring at the ceiling. Then, his entire body goes rigid, Castiel's tongue curling along the head of his cock, his fingers buried deep and pressing upwards, and Dean lets out a low, rough, inhuman sound as he cannot fight it anymore, and comes, his seed spilling down the back of the Angel's throat. It feels like he's taken a dive over a waterfall, the sensation of flying high and falling crashing through him with all the gentleness of a wrecking ball. He cries out when Castiel continues to suck, milking his body for every last drop of release until he is a quivering, shaking mess, every touch too much for his sensitive, raw cells.

Castiel swallows with an audible gulp as he pulls off of Dean's cock, lightly licking down his shaft to make sure he has captured every drop, before he withdraws, looking to Sam for instruction. Sam smiles, sitting up and leaning in, pulling Castiel over Dean's leg towards him, meeting him in a kiss. The Angel whines, tongue curling around Sam's as the Winchester dives in for a taste of Dean's seed, his large, warm hand skating down Castiel's body to cup the Angel's hardness.

"Lose the clothes, Cas," he demands, eyes dark and hungry, and the Angel quickly obeys, shedding both his clothes and Sam's with a thought. "Come up here."

Sam pulls Castiel towards the pair of them, still kissing and stroking the Angel until Castiel is seated, straddling Dean's heaving chest. "Stay," Sam orders gently, kissing Castiel again, and gives his cock one last tug, making the Angel growl and buck his hips. "Go ahead," Sam says, again like he can tell what Castiel desires just from the noises he makes – perhaps he can. Perhaps he is one of those, you know, audio learners, who knows through sound.

Castiel leans down, then, under Sam's watchful eye, and takes Dean's face in his hands. Their kiss is different from Castiel's and Sam's, and Sam and Dean's – Castiel is still learning, still tracing the edges of his more submissive lover's mouth as he takes and cradles Dean's head like he is precious, like he can break under a touch that is too rough. And Dean gives – traps the Angel's lower lip between his own and licks, bites, pulls, invites Castiel closer with every nip of teeth and slide of tongue.

Sam leaves them to that, turning his attention to Dean's legs. First, he unhooks the loop of rope that had kept them tied to the bedposts, though Dean scarcely notices because his ankles and thighs are still bound together. Carefully, Sam kneels by his left leg, gently unraveling the tight coils under Dean's leg falls free, and with gentle hands he rubs the reddened area where the ropes had cut from Dean's struggles. He places a tender kiss to Dean's ankle, stroking up his legs, licking at his knee, biting his shin, massaging his sore thigh and ass, before moving onto the other leg. Dean sighs when both of his legs are free, rolling his back and hips under Castiel just to feel the stretch of sore and tired muscles.

"Castiel," he calls after a moment, letting the other two kiss for a while longer. "Now."

Castiel turns, rising off of Dean's torso, and moves away so that Sam has room to undo the rope around Dean's wrists as well, pulling his dazed and sated brother to a sitting position and rubbing his bruised wrists gently, placing a kiss there too. "You did so well, Dean," he murmurs, kissing his brother lightly on the forehead, and Dean smiles, looking up at Sam with brilliant jade irises.

"Anytime, Sammy," Dean replies, words slurring. Without hesitation he reaches out, lays a hand on both of them, gaze swapping between the two. The words seem caught in his throat, but Sam knows – Dean, now that he is in his mindset again, feels like he needs to please them, needs to wring their bodies dry like they had done him – it will take a few times like this before Sam lets Dean know that it is okay to just take from them. That's what they do for each other, after all; take and give and sometimes it doesn't need to be all at the same time.

"Roll over for me," Sam whispers, leaning down to lightly kiss Dean's forehead, before manhandling his brother onto his hands and knees. Castiel sits at the head of the bed, leaning against the headboard, one hand resting on the back of Dean's neck, fingers curling into his sweat damp hair, and Sam smiles. "Go on, baby, suck him down for me."

Dean moans and obliges, sinking to his elbows and nuzzling against Castiel's crotch, the Angel's thick erection smearing precome against his cheek and the corner of his open, panting mouth. Castiel leans back, relaxing, eyes heavy-lidded as he stares down at Dean, petting through his hair, soft terms of endearment and encouragements falling from his lips in English, Latin and Enochian. The sound of wings unfurling is loud in the room and, if Sam closes his eyes and concentrates, he imagines that he can feel their soft caress against his sides.

He smiles, nuzzling against dip in Dean's spine where he knows his brother is sensitive, listening to the soft shudder-gasp as he nips at the curve of Dean's ribs, one hand moving down to inspect Castiel's job at opening Dean up. One of his fingers sinks in easily, his brother's orgasm-pliant body loose and relaxed enough that he is not immediately forced out. A second slides in too, harder to fully thrust in this time, but Dean still moans and trembles and works to relax around him.

Sam moves, kneeling between Dean's spread knees, and pushes his cheeks apart, leaning down and licking at Dean's hole again, listening to the muffled moan his brother gives, like the gag is still on, but Sam knows it's because Dean is obeying his orders and his mouth is full of Angel cock. The thought makes Sam chuckle, the vibrations making Dean shudder. His cock is half-hard again between his legs, filling with blood like Sam is sure it hasn't since Dean was a teenager.

He reaches forward, fisting Dean lightly as he feels his brother thicken and swell. Excellent. His fingertip swipes through the slit, gathering a little precome, and he kneels up again, spitting into his palm to work over his cock. It is not as much preparation as he would like, but Dean is just about as loose and relaxed as he is going to get and now would be the best time. Besides, he can't quite remember where he put the lube.

Dean knows what is coming by the familiar tightening of Sam's fingertips around the spurs of his hipbones – knows it by the quick intake of breath behind him, by the tightening of long fingers in his hair and the small thrust Castiel gives, forcing his cock deeper into Dean's mouth. The Hunter chokes slightly, working to swallow around his gag reflex, and braces himself.

He moans loudly when Sam starts to penetrate him, that thick, long cock burying itself deep inside of his body like it belongs there, carving out a place for itself. Sam is _huge_ and with Castiel stuffed down his mouth, Dean feels both of them – both of his lovers, deep inside of his body from both ends and it feels _right_.

It burns at first, like always – Sam is huge and Dean is, well, not. But then Sam is leaning over him, all quiet sounds and soft touches down his arms and across his flanks, his huge, muscular chest blanketing Dean's smaller body and Dean feels like he's being wrapped in a muscled blanket, burning into him as Sam ruts deeper in short, sharp thrusts, so that Dean can get used to the fullness and the sensation of being fucked before Sam starts for real.

Dean moans again, finding one of Sam's hands, lacing their fingers together. A sign. He pulls up on Castiel's cock, curling his tongue around the ridge, tracing the vein and the slit, eyes flashing up to Castiel who is breathing hard, watching both of the Winchesters – his charges – his humans – and grabs Dean's other hand.

Then Sam starts moving. Slowly, at first – a long, languid roll of hips to pull out of Dean's warm, welcoming body, until just the head is trapped within the stubborn, clinging rim of Dean's entrance, before he thrusts back in – fast, hard, traveling deep in no time at all and Dean grunts at the sudden jolt, able to feel it in his throat, growling low at the rough treatment.

Sam returns the growl, biting at the side of Dean's throat as Dean takes Castiel back into his mouth.

"So hot like this, Dean," Sam murmurs, mouthing at Dean's reddened throat, dragging his open mouth and leaving moist kisses against the back of Dean's neck. "Taking both of us like this, sandwiched between us. _Fuck_, do you even know what you do to Castiel and me?"

Dean whines, fingers clenching around them, and sucks harder at Castiel, determined to make the Angel come, to feel the heavy, salty weight of seed on his tongue. He tilts his head, swallows, and sinks further down on Castiel, taking all of him, and the Angel shudders, a surprised shout coming from his throat at an almost human pitch, fingers tightening in Dean's hair.

"That's it, baby, swallow him whole. Such a good boy, Dean."

Dean moans again, and the vibrations set Castiel off – he comes, shouting out Dean's and Sam's names, his body going tense as he spills down the Hunter's throat. Dean pulls back just a little, letting the first splash hit his face before he returns to lapping at the strings of come as they shoot from Castiel's erection, smearing the pearly liquid across his nose, chin and lips. He's breathing hard – both of them are – as he nuzzles into Castiel's stomach, catching his breath against the pale, smooth skin, and Castiel pets Dean's hair as he rides his high out, eyes closed and a blissed-out expression on his face.

Sam grunts when Dean tightens around him, hands gripping tight into Dean's flanks, and he pushes up flush against Dean's ass, rolling his hips until he finds Dean's prostate – nudges the gland with the flat head of his cock, and Dean groans, sounding almost pained, his body clenching deliciously around Sam's cock, so Sam does it again, and again, one hand dipping down low to wrap around Dean's cock.

Dean whines. "Sammy, you don't -." He is cut off when Sam merely growls, nudging his face to one side for a kiss, their lips smeared with Castiel's seed between them. Dean's mouth tastes like bitter salt, and Sam licks at him, cleaning him up a little as he works his brother closer to a second orgasm. Dean shivers, body slick with sweat, breathing like a racehorse, eyes heavy and dazed, glassy from pleasure.

"Want you to, Dean," Sam murmurs, pressing his mouth against Dean's cheek. "Want to see it again. Please, baby, can you do that for me?"

Dean makes a low, rough sound, arching his back against his brother, and turning his head when he feels a hand on the side of his face. Castiel is watching him with his bright, all-seeing blue eyes, and Dean shudders again, feeling more exposed than he had before, tied up on the bed.

"Come for us, Dean," Castiel whispers, curling his body down at an almost impossible angle to press his lips to Dean's.

The Hunter gasps softly, a strange electricity shooting down his spine that he suspects is Castiel's Grace, settling low in his belly and spreading out, and that is all it takes for him to lock up in Sam's arms, an unintelligible shout coming from him as he comes for the second time. The tight clenching of his body and the way he shakes and trembles underneath Sam is enough to set the younger Winchester off too, Sam coming inside of his brother a half-dozen thrusts later, groaning softly as he pushes his hips flush and comes deep inside of Dean.

They all collapse, sweaty and exhausted, in the middle of the bed, but with a wave of Castiel's hand they are all dry and mostly clean, Dean still bearing Castiel's seed on his face, which the Angel then proceeds to clean away with kisses and small, kittenish licks of his tongue. Dean is practically purring beneath them when he is done, arching into Sam's affectionate touches like a cat, smiling lazily over Castiel as he throws an arm around the Angel, tangling all of their legs together. Sam wraps an arm around them both, pulling them all together.

Castiel wants to ask what brought this on, but a glance into Sam's mind tells him everything he needed to know – this night was about Dean, about taking care of him and giving him what he needed. How Sam knew, Castiel would not be able to say, but it does not really matter. The older Hunter's soul is practically gleaming like a polished diamond with contentment and joy, and Sam's is just as bright. It brings a smile to the Angel's face and he burrows in with them, his own Grace wrapping around the Hunters in return and, as they fall asleep, he calms his mind and enters into his own silent meditation.


	27. Allegiance

**Title:** Allegiance  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** Dean/Castiel  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> angst, graphic hunting imagery, slavery/Royal relationship  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~9,700  
><strong>Summary:<strong> "But I don't want a slave." The protest fell on deaf ears, as Prince Castiel knew it would.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Written for sswiftstrike because I couldn't fit the prompt – Dean/Cas 'slavery' – into the other smush fics. Sorry darling, hope this makes up for it! *hugs*

* * *

><p>"But I don't want a slave."<p>

The protest fell on deaf ears, as Prince Castiel knew it would, when his older brother and King turned a small, almost bemused smile on him. Obediently Castiel lowered his eyes, away from the King's gaze as custom demanded, his hands clasped at the small of his back, fingers digging into the soft material of his robe.

Michael chuckled, sweeping down the few steps that separated the platform on which his throne perched from the rest of the court. They were alone in the room, Michael and his little brother – Castiel was the only one still in residence at the Court and not off in some distant part of Michael's lands, Lord of his own castle and farmland. He had no grasp of that kind of thing, Michael's advisors told him – and, they would say, what of the matter of his birth? –, but Castiel was a good, if too kind, Prince.

"My dear brother," Michael said warmly, taking Castiel's chin in hand and raising him so their eyes met. "It is a gift from our Western cousins. It would be bad form to refuse them. Besides…" He let Castiel go, moving away again – always a restless one, was Michael – "you needn't do anything with him, if he displeases you. I can always put him to work in more menial tasks with the rest of the servants, only to make appearances when our cousins come to visit."

Castiel swallowed, debating that option. It would not make him appear proud or arrogant in front of the other courtiers – the slaves working in the fields were wearing thin and they could always use more.

But Castiel had seen the slave. And he knew people would call him weak and liquid-spined if he refused to accept the slave.

"No," he replied with a sigh, shaking his head. "I shall just…have to get used to it, I suppose."

"There we go," Michael replied, grinning and gently stroking Castiel's cheek. "I'm glad we settled it. Now hurry up – Lord Balthazar doesn't like to be kept waiting, and you're nearly late." Castiel's eyes widened and he hastily bowed, turning and almost running from the hall – Balthazar was his combat instructor, teaching the young Prince everything he would need to defend himself should anyone attempt an assassination or attack the palace.

The training hall was empty when he entered it, but Castiel did not let himself be fooled – Lord Balthazar was a master at being present without being seen, and the young Prince entered warily, bright eyes casting around in the muted light of the many candles around the edge of the hall, providing a dull, flickering glow, trying to find where his master might be hidden.

"Defend yourself!"

The yell came from his left flank, followed by a quick shadow moving towards him. Castiel whirled around, parrying the blow that was aimed for his head and shoving away before Lord Balthazar could land another hit, landing on the balls of his feet, hands flexing in front of him to ward off any more of the Lord's quick attacks.

His mouth curled in a smile when he saw the man, familiar as always. He had been training with Lord Balthazar for many years and Castiel was sure the man hadn't aged a day – his tight-fitting black garb clung to the muscles in his chest and arms, while the material hung loose between his legs so he could run and kick without being restricted. Lord Balthazar grinned at the Prince, nodding his head once, before he attacked again.

Balthazar's style was one Castiel knew well by now – hard, fast punches and jabs meant to shock the nerves and paralyze before brawn could overcome him. Lord Balthazar was, after all, not built like a true knight or warrior. But he held his own and Castiel would respect him for that, especially when iron-hard fingers, bony and tough, dug into the sensitive muscle of his shoulder, driving him down to one knee in a swift jab. Before Lord Balthazar could deliver the 'killing' blow, however, Castiel swept his foot out, kicking at the man's legs, and made him sprawl to the floor.

Quick to press his advantage, panting, his arm numb from the attack, the Prince hauled himself to his feet and ran to his master's head, kneeling over him and pressing a forearm against the man's throat. Immediately Lord Balthazar went still.

Castiel grinned at him. "That's three times this month," he said proudly. "You're getting soft, old man."

Lord Balthazar smiled good-naturedly, shrugging one shoulder, and no sooner had Castiel relaxed than the man had a leg around him, rolling the young Prince over and locking his arms behind his back, pressing his face into the ground. No matter how much Castiel bucked and writhed, he could not unseat the man.

Lord Balthazar chuckled. "And yet you're still too cocky to hold the kill," he replied, earning a low, unsatisfied grunt of acknowledgement. He chuckled again, squeezing the Prince's arms just once for emphasis, before rising to his feet and letting Castiel get up. "I heard you got a gift from the Barbarians today," the man said casually, and Castiel's cheeks flushed, and he looked down, biting his lip, and wiped the beginning of sweat from his brow. "Have you met him yet?"

"I saw him being transported and presented to me," Castiel replied, following his master when Lord Balthazar led him towards the sparring equipment. As he always did, Castiel chose a long staff with a wicked-looking curved end, studded with iron at the other end to allow a mean blunt force blow should he need it. "Do all Barbarians look…?" He trailed off, clearing this throat, flushing again.

Lord Balthazar chuckled. "I used to have a slave from the plains. I can say that if 'tall, dark and scary' is what you mean, then that would seem to be the case, yes."

"Oh," Castiel said, frowning, twirling the staff experimentally in his hands. "He looks threatening. I don't quite know what to do with him, though – is he meant to be a body guard? A handservant?"

Lord Balthazar paused in where he was perusing a selection of Eastern-style curved knives, fixing the young Prince with a steady, solid look that was long enough to make Castiel shift nervously. "How old are you now, Prince?"

"Coming on nineteen," he replied.

Lord Balthazar nodded. "Perhaps it is fit to give a ruler a bedmate that has no risk of producing illegitimate children for him." He shrugged. "Just a theory. I know your brothers have quite the harem."

Castiel's eyes widened at the same time his blush darkened, spreading down his neck and chest as well. He would be a liar if he claimed he had not thought about it. "I can't just do that," he insisted instead, hands tightening and flexing nervously around the staff. "That's…it wouldn't be right. Using him like that."

"It seems like the only thing you're open to using him _for_," Lord Balthazar replied with a small smirk, and Castiel rolled his eyes.

"Are we going to spar or not, old man?" he snapped instead, walking away and taking up a position in the center of the room. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Very well, Prince, as you wish," came Balthazar's reply, but the man was no longer by the weapons. At once Castiel unfocused his gaze, looking around the room to try and find an abnormality in the flickering shadows.

"Defend yourself!"

* * *

><p>As soon as Castiel entered his quarters at the end of a long sparring session, he knew that he was not alone.<p>

The Prince froze, pressing the door closed as quietly as he could, and held his breath to listen for the intruder's footsteps. They were faint – the soft padding of bare feet on thick carpet – but he could hear them, the unknown person – he guessed a man but could be wrong – tinkering about his room, seemingly looking for nothing in particular and definitely in no hurry.

Castiel reached to one of the wardrobes beside the door and pulled out a thin, straight blade, the hand fitting perfectly in the curve of his palm, the end hammered out so there would be no chance of it being yanked out of his hand. He twisted his wrist, holding it so the cool edge of the blade touched along his inner arm, and braced himself.

A shadow moved and a moment later a man stepped into his line of sight, and Castiel didn't hesitate. He threw himself at the man, despite the fact that he was broader in the shoulders and taller than Castiel, knife flashing in the sunlight shafting through the room. That must have been what tipped the man off, he thought later, as the man spun around to face him a fraction too soon for Castiel, and caught the knife, expertly parrying the swing away and catching the Prince's arm in a lock.

Castiel growled, dropping the knife as his nerves were pinched and he no longer could hold it, and looked up to the face of his attacker.

Oh.

The man's face was mostly in shadow because of the angle of the light in the room, but Castiel would never forget those green eyes – how they had looked at him, flat and emotionless, from where the slave had knelt on the flagstones of the Palace courtyard and sworn fealty in the Kingdom's broken tongue. Those eyes sparked with life now – a cold, predatory kind of light that spoke of instinct, as nostrils flared and the slave leaned down, like an animal, to inhale the scent of sweat that came off of Castiel's clothes from sparring.

He snorted a little, scenting the Prince again, and then let him go, taking a step back. Castiel winced, wiggling his fingers to try and get feeling back in them, and regarded the slave as he slowly, gracefully, sank to his knees in front of the Prince.

He was tattooed, the black ink visible just under the thin material of his shirt where it was flattened against his skin. Castiel did not know the full extent of the tattoo, but it curved up in tribal markings across the slave's shoulders, a thin line trailing up one side of his neck and face, coming to a stop at his temple and framing his eye. His green irises glowed and it gave him a feral, Barbaric look, but did not detract from the natural beauty of his full lips or long lashes, his natural grace and his smooth skin. Castiel swallowed, looking away.

Castiel cleared his throat, taking a step back and away from the slave. The man's eyes blinked, once, but did not waver from the spot he had fixed them on. His hands clasped tightly behind his back.

"Rise," Castiel murmured after another moment, feeling strange and awkward with the silent, kneeling man. Eyes the color of spring grass flashed to his and the man moved to his feet, body sleek and smooth like a wild animal. The Prince swallowed. "What is your name?"

The man licked his lips, white teeth flashing between them when he bit his lower one. "Dean," came the short answer – a rough bite of a name in the Barbarian's stilted accent. The Western tribe, he knew, spoke a different language than his Court and he wondered how much of their tongue the man – Dean – knew.

"And what are you doing in my rooms, Dean?" he asked, feeling a little more confident when the man's head ducked, sheepish and obedient.

"I didn't know where you were," came the reply, low and gravel-brandy-rough.

He frowned. "Should that matter?"

The Barbarian blinked again, shoulders rolling, his lips pressing together as he tried to think of an answer. "Dean." Their eyes flashed, met, held. "No riddles. Why were you in my room?"

The slave swallowed, looking down again, tensing. "I wanted to learn. I need to know how you are, and how you think, and how you live, to know how to protect. I…" He cleared his throat, swallowing again, looking up and meeting the Prince's eyes. "That is why."

Castiel frowned, troubled. "What makes you think I need protecting?" he asked, worried already that there might be some kind of treason being passed around the Court. He never knew one of Michael's Lords and Ladies to lift a finger against him, loving their benevolent and fair ruler, but all it took was one bad whisper to turn things.

Dean blinked. "That is what we do," he answered, as though it was the most obvious answer in the world. And perhaps it was – Castiel knew that Barbarians were often hired as mercenaries, freelance fighters or bodyguards to the other territories. It had never occurred to him that he would need one, though, and the idea that he would use Dean as a shield caused him more relief than he knew he should strictly feel – at least it gave the man a purpose.

"Oh," Castiel said, realizing the man was waiting for him to reply. The Barbarian flashed a smile, shrugging one shoulder, and took a step forward. Castiel did not think to react until one warm, large palm landed over his bicep, smoothing out and taking hold. "What…what are you doing?"

"Need to learn your scent, Prince," Dean replied, like it was normal, like he wasn't leaning in and inhaling the scent of sweat coming off of Castiel's skin.

The Prince shivered a little when warm breath skated over his sensitive neck, the Barbarian's nostrils flaring wide as he inhaled, that touch still warm and solid on his arm. Dean had the body of a fighter – muscled, fit, and large. His tattoo stood starkly out against the tan of his skin and Castiel was able to see the finer designs on the side of his neck when Dean leaned in, nose pressing just barely to Castiel's jaw. Even though the touch was uncomfortably intimate by anyone's standards, it never occurred to Castiel to pull away, to demand that Dean give him space and to respect his social standing – the idea of a slave touching a Lord or Prince like this without being a bed mate was unheard of. Especially to initiate or control such a touch. But Castiel wanted it – was selfish, leaning into Dean's body heat, listening to the low, steady _thud-thud_ of the Barbarian's heartbeat, mesmerized by the black swirls of ink that he saw now were bordered in red and gold, faint but there.

Dean's hand dragged downward, fingers splaying wide over Castiel's arm, elbow, forearm, finally taking his wrist. The Barbarian's other hand touched his palm lightly, traced over the calluses, lightly brushed against the sensitive centre. Castiel's fingers curled.

"What are you doing?"

Dean hummed, closing his eyes, taking another deep breath. He straightened, cheek pressed against Castiel's hairline, inhaling once, before he pulled away. His hands flattened over Castiel's, fingertips uncharacteristically smooth and gentle as they learned the Prince's hand.

"Learning you," Dean replied after a moment, his words stilted. "If you sneak up on me. I will know it is you."

Castiel swallowed, eyes fixed on Dean's face when the Barbarian opened his eyes, grass green flashing beneath thick, long lashes. He let go of the Prince's hands and smiled slightly, one side of his mouth quirking up higher than the other.

For a long moment, they stared at each other – the Barbarian's gaze was unwavering, almost defiant despite his otherwise subservient position and posture, and Castiel had to wonder just what kind of Barbarian he must have been, to not only be sold as a slave, but slip into the role so oddly – submissive but threatening.

The Prince swallowed, his skin stretching tight with dried sweat and sawdust from the training hall, and he coughed, breaking the gaze, and took a step back. "I need to bathe," he said, and Dean nodded, smiling.

"I will do that," he replied, and then moved back, past Castiel and through the small folding screen that led to the Prince's bathing room – a small antechamber with only a large bronze tub inside and a pump so that hot water could be drawn from heated pools under the castle and into the tub. Soon he heard the sound of sloshing water and knew Dean was drawing the bath for him.

He folded his arms in front of his chest, for once self-conscious about his own body. He did not want Dean to see him bare – he was pale, wiry, and slender, and he had nothing on the almost feral beauty Dean possessed. Even if nothing more than trust and friendship came of Dean's servitude, he did not want to put himself next to the Barbarian, did not want to compare their bodies in such a clinical, stark way.

Still, the prospect of a bath was too compelling and it wasn't as though he was going to do anything. Dean was his slave – his servant. Nothing more than that. The very idea…

He shook himself out of his thoughts, stepping into the antechamber when he judged the bath to be almost full. Sure enough, the water was just lipping at the mark that told Dean it would be just full when Castiel was fully submerged, and the Barbarian looked up when Castiel entered.

"Prince," he said, stepping back and away and pushing the half-full bucket underneath the pump, where it dripped and wetted the floor. The water was steaming gently in the cool air and Castiel approached. "Do you want me to leave?"

Castiel swallowed, eyeing the water, and then he nodded. So maybe he wasn't strong enough.

Dean licked his lips, pressing them together, and stepped away from the tub, towards the door. "Okay, then," he said, and then paused, as though to say more. Castiel merely stared at the man before Dean flushed and hurried out of the room.

The Prince sighed, peeling away his thin clothes and letting them drop to the floor. They were crusty with sweat and the cold air felt pleasant on his skin when he stripped, and then stepped into the bathtub. The water was just on one side of too hot and felt amazing on his tired, aching muscles, and Castiel sank in until the water covered his shoulders and neck with a soft, appreciative moan, letting his eyes fall closed. He let his body relax into the warmth of the water, submerging himself as much as he could, and ran his damp fingers through his hair to comb the sweat and dirt out of it.

Dean was nothing like he had expected. The man was nowhere near what his heritage would have suggested – Castiel knew Barbarians, had conversed and dined with them. They were nothing short of savages; with their fierce, tattooed bodies and wickedly curved blades, their coarse language and stocky, intimidating war horses and spears. They were muscled, big, bred to fight, their women more fierce than any knight Castiel had met in his brother's kingdom.

Dean was obviously a fighter, that much was certain. But there was no crassness about him – nothing to suggest that he was one of the inferior, lower-class savages that Castiel had grown up knowing. His touches were gentle, his eyes kind and wise. His body, though muscled and sleek like a jungle cat, seemed less worn and scarred, from what little he had seen. Perhaps Dean was too young to be so battle-hardened as his Elders. Maybe Barbarians had a class of servants of their own who did not fight and only cared for and cooked and cleaned and that was the caste that Dean had belonged to.

Castiel vowed to ask all these questions of the Barbarian, when he had a moment to. Then, he stilled, becoming quiet, and listened past the soft rippling of the water around him to see if he could hear Dean. There were no sounds of movement coming from his bedroom, and so Castiel figured that he was safe. He closed his eyes again, slouching low in the tub until the hot water rose to around his neck again, and bit his lip to stifle the small sound he made when his hand closed around his cock.

He let himself think about Dean – the Barbarian's smooth skin, the curve of his mouth, the fullness of his lips. The Prince let himself linger, his palm just brushing over the head of his erection, on the strong line of his shoulders and the slight bow of his legs, the barely restrained power in his hands and the brightness of his eyes.

Maybe he would take Dean with him on a hunt – see the powerful creature that his slave must be, let him unleash all of his might and strength on some poor, unsuspecting animal. Let him run, and fight, and sweat and pant and -.

Castiel shuddered, his body trembling as he spilled over his hands and dirtied the water, eyes flaring open as he gasped. He bit his knuckles to stifle the loud moans falling from his mouth as his body tightened and shuddered through the orgasm, burning hot and painful in his gut.

"God," he muttered, slumping, boneless in the water. He took a deep breath, willing his body to calm, and ran a hand through his hair again. He would have to get out soon or the entire point of the bath would have been ruined.

"Dean," he called out, voice too low and raspy, and he cleared his throat and tried again. "Dean." The slave appeared, peeking into the antechamber, fingers curling around the edge of the screen.  
>"Get me my robe," Castiel said, and Dean nodded and disappeared again, reappearing moments later with Castiel's robe, and held it out to the Prince. "Thank you."<p>

"Yes, Prince," Dean murmurs, carefully averting his eyes when Castiel rose out of the water and wrapped himself tightly in the robe, and he took a step backwards so Castiel could get out of the bath. While Castiel pretended to fix the robe around himself, Dean went around the bath and reached into the water, pulling at the stop in the bottom so that the water could drain out. He made to pull back, to let the water drain, and then froze, taking a deep, long breath.

Castiel paused, turning around to watch the slave. Dean's eyes were wide, his throat working to swallow as he scented the water, and the Prince's heart stopped for a moment, sure that Dean would be able to smell the tang of his seed in the bath. He flushed guiltily, and left the bathroom before Dean could say or do anything, although he felt the brilliant grassy eyes fixed on the back of his head as he left.

Once in his rooms, he hurried to change into clean clothes, forcing himself to take a deep breath and calm down. It was preposterous to think that Dean suspected anything – surely no man would be able to _smell_ that sort of thing. It was ridiculous to think so.

"Prince." Castiel spun around, flushing guiltily at his own thoughts despite himself, to see the slave standing at the doorway to the bathroom. His eyes were flat again, and Castiel found himself hating that – that careful, controlled look in the Barbarian's eyes.

"Come on a hunt with me," Castiel said, before Dean could say anything and before he could stop himself. The Barbarian's eyes widened, lips parting a little in shock.

"You…" Dean's brow furrowed, confusion pulling at his mouth. "You want me to hunt with you?"

"Did you not hunt back in your tribe?" Castiel asked, feeling a little more confident when he saw Dean's confusion – he could lead and guide, tell Dean what to do if he had to. Besides, he was a good hunter – Lord Balthazar's training did not just extend to hand-to-hand combat, after all.

Dean blinked, pressing his lips together, fingers flexing by his sides. "I was a very good hunter," he replied, looking down for a moment, and then back up. "One of the best."

"Then come hunting with me," Castiel said, taking a step forward, still confused over his slave's reluctance – Castiel loved hunting, found living with the wild for a couple of days much more freeing than the stifled life of the Court. "I want to see you."

Dean hesitated, his brows pulled down in concern for a moment, looking like he was trying to come to a decision. "I can't control myself," he whispered, finally, looking back to the Prince, his words heavy with some meaning that Castiel did not understand.

"What do you mean?" he asked, taking another step closer.

"I…" Dean paused, a light shudder running through his body, nostrils flaring as he scented the air. "I am not a…" He swallowed, looking away for another moment.

"Dean," Castiel said, voice hard – an order. The Barbarian's eyes flashed to him, wide and almost fearful. "Tell me."

"There is a tradition," Dean finally said, swallowing around his words as he attempted to communicate in Castiel's language, his accent thick and stilted, "that…unites two of us when we go on a first hunt. That is…" He trailed off, smiling a little. "That is a strong tradition, Prince. Binding."

Castiel frowned a little. "As in marriage?" Dean swallowed, looking away, and nodded slightly. "I am no Barbarian," he replied, but his voice was not strong.

"I can smell you," Dean replied, taking a step forward, his eyes dark and fixed on Castiel's face. "I can…I can barely keep control over my own beast, Prince. I feel like…"

Castiel bit his lip, unable to look away from Dean's face. Was that what that was? That pull? Castiel had known that the Barbarians were akin to animals – believed that animal blood ran in their veins and that their instincts were as such, impossible to ignore – to know that _he_ was like that, could succumb to the same desires should horrify him, but already Dean had proven that he was more than just an animal; he was far more gentle and respectful than any Barbarian Castiel had met before.

Without realizing it, Castiel found himself reaching for Dean, laying a hand across the Barbarian's tattooed neck, his thumb tracing the soft, vulnerable flesh below Dean's jaw, and the slave pressed his lips together, ducking his head and leaning into the touch, just very slightly.

"Hunt with me," Castiel whispered again, this time more of an order than anything else.

* * *

><p>Dean's eyelids fluttered, and he sighed softly. "Yes, Prince."<p>

Dean had been allowed to keep his horse when being sold over to Castiel – the animal was larger than any of the Barbarian's horses he'd seen before; a brawny, stocky mare with thick muscles and fiery eyes. The animal seemed to recognize and know Dean, as he walked up to her and started talking in the thick, guttural language of the Western Barbarians.

His own animal was a few stalls down – a relatively dainty mare the color of wheat during harvest time. He smiled at her, petting over her soft nose and led her out of the stall, tying her with a lead rope to the wall to be tacked up.

Dean merely watched as Castiel saddled up his mare, threading all of the complicated loops of the bridle carefully around her neck and face, finally tying the reins to the pommel as he then proceeded to attach the saddlebags.

"Don't you have servants who do that?" he asked.

"I don't like the idea," Castiel replied. "If something were to happen in the castle and retreat was necessary, would I wait for the servants to get her ready while we were being attacked?"

Dean nodded, conceding the point, and Castiel fixed his eyes on him, raising a brow at the sight of the untacked horse. "Don't you have a saddle and bridle?"

"Don't need them, Prince," Dean replied with a slight smile, petting over his mare's flank.

Castiel paused for a moment, and then shrugged and decided to let it go. He led his mare over to a mounting block and swung into the saddle, keeping a tight hold of her reins as she danced to one side, bringing her back under control with a steady hand and quiet shushing noises.

Dean grinned and fisted a hand tightly in his mare's mane, jumping up to lay flat across her back and then swinging his leg over to seat himself quickly, high up against her withers. It had to be uncomfortable, Castiel thought, to sit so closely to the horse's spine without any padding, but Dean did not seem to mind – perhaps he was used to it.

The Barbarian horse was almost as tall as Castiel's, though broader through the chest, and Dean looked comfortable on her, if a little large. How he intended to control the thing without reins or a saddle, Castiel had no idea, but he was excited to find out.

The portcullis was open for them and the drawbridge was lowered, and he guided his horse out towards the entrance, tutting lightly to encourage her to trot. Dean made no sound behind him and Castiel had to look to see that the Barbarian was keeping up, his own horse's movements almost ghostly silent despite the fact that they were walking on flagstones. Once they were free of the portcullis, Castiel dug his heels into his mare's flanks, sending her leaping forward into a canter.

Dean smiled, squeezing his mare's flanks gently, sitting further back on her back so he could comfortably settle his legs around her girth, and placed his hands on her shoulders. _Come on, baby, _he whispered in his native tongue, and the mare's ears flickered once before she snorted, putting her head down, and began to race after the Prince and his horse.

He caught up quickly, his mare's blowing hard to keep up with the other horse's long strides, and Castiel looked over at him, one brow raised appraisingly.

"How do you do that?" he called over, bracing himself when his mare changed her lead leg, skirting around a boulder that was sitting close to the edge of the path. "Keep your seat so well? Ride without tack?"

Dean grinned. "Know your animal, Prince," he replied. "More fun when you have less control."

_Fun_? Riding horses had never been about fun for Castiel – they were a means to an end, a faster way to travel, beasts of burden. But Dean was smiling, seemingly one with his animal, both of them moving together easily like they were old friends – perhaps he had known the mare since she was foaled, or perhaps even conceived within her mother. The Barbarians were close to their animal friends, it seemed.

"Will you teach me?" Castiel asked after a moment.

"To ride?"

The Prince paused, looking at his slave. They were coming up on the nearby woods and Castiel sat deep in his saddle, pulling on the reins so the mare bucked her head and skidded to a halt, skipping a few steps, her tail held high as she whinnied. Dean's mare, at direction from her rider, dug in her hooves, coming to a halt in a much more controlled way, her powerful hindquarters taking the strain of her immediate halt, and she turned around, snorting loudly and trotting back towards Castiel.

"You know how to ride," Dean said, swinging his leg over his horse's back and sliding to the ground. "You ride well."

"Not like you can," Castiel replied, dismounting his own horse and loosening her girth, tying her reins to the pommel so she would not trip. "I want to learn that – less control."

"You want to lose control?" Dean asked, blinking at Castiel, his eyes sharp like he was perusing Castiel, looking for some sort of sign, some weakness or guile in the Prince's eyes. Castiel let him look, chin raised defiantly, arms crossed over his chest. The Barbarian smiled. "It is a dangerous thing," he murmured, stepping close to the Prince, "to want no control. To surrender yourself like that. You have to trust."

"Trust my animal?" Castiel asked, biting his lip when he felt Dean's warm body near his own – the Barbarian was incredibly warm, his heat inviting Castiel closer. The Prince's fingers clenched, trying to resist that pull.

"Trust _me,"_ Dean replied, smiling a little. He cocked his head to one side, eyes too wise and knowing. "Come, Prince, we have a hunt waiting for us."

Castiel nodded, taking his mare's reins in one hand and leading her down the small slope towards the forest. Dean merely clucked twice, and his stocky mare trotted along behind him, her nose pressing against his shoulder as he reached back to scratch at her neck. So much control.

_Away with you, _he murmured to the mare when they had approached the tree line, and her ears twitched, before she snorted and began to graze. Castiel tied his horse to a large oak where she would have shade as well as plenty of grass around the graze on, but the knot was loose so if she pulled hard enough she would be able to get away – just in case something happened. The horse was trained to return to the Palace if afraid.

"And what will happen, if you hunt with me?" Castiel asked, shouldering his pack and grabbing his hunting knife – a gift from his brother – and bow, slinging the quiver across his back. "Will that make us married, in your tradition?"

Dean chuckled lightly, shaking his head. "If we stick to our own kills, Prince, then we are merely friends."

"No middle ground, then," Castiel replied, not really thinking about what he was saying as he began to walk into the woods, Dean following like a steady shadow at his side. "Do you not have pleasure slaves? Or concubines?"

A pause. "Is that what I am to you, Prince?" Dean asked.

"What?" Castiel whirled around, eyes wide. "No." Dean nodded, his expression a little startled at Castiel's reaction. "That is what my brothers want. But it's not fair to you." Dean nodded once, slowly, his brows furrowed. "Don't you have any hunting knives, or weapons?"

At that, Dean flashed a wide grin, one side of his mouth quirking up higher than the other. "I have weapons, Prince." Castiel let his eyes skate down Dean's body, unable to fathom where a knife or tool might be hidden within his clothes. But he trusted the Barbarian to be able to look after himself – after all, the tribe was all warriors. It would be foolish to think Dean was incapable of hunting on his own. Even without knives or bows or traps.

As they trekked deeper into the forest, the trees became thicker, the well-worn path giving way to goat trails that Castiel knew well, picking over the territory easily as though he was at home here. Certainly more at home in the trees than the flat, boring flagstones of the Palace and city. Dean, too, seemed at home with the wilderness, like a sleek, wild animal – he shadowed Castiel, easily keeping pace and, while sometimes he disappeared from sight, Castiel seemed hyper-aware of him. Knew he was nearby despite not being able to see him.

He paused when he heard a loud snuffling amongst some of the foliage to his left, and knelt down behind a boulder, creeping forward with his knife in one hand – he would use the bow but the space was too enclosed to guarantee a good shot.

It was a warthog, snuggling about the dead leaves and bracken. A young male, just peaking into maturity. Perfect.

Castiel was aware of movement to his right, and his head whipped around to see Dean kneeling down beside him. The Barbarian flashed a smile and pressed one finger to his lips, his eyes bright in eagerness, and Castiel nodded, returning his attention to the beast.

He needed to get closer and, knowing it was a warthog now, he set his blade down and carefully drew an arrow out for his bow – the best way to kill it would be a good shot right between the eyes or behind its foreleg. As he moved forward, he stepped on a branch and it snapped with a loud cracking sound.

The warthog paused, ears cocked forward, and lifted its head. Its beady yellow eyes seemed to find Castiel too soon and it squealed, rounding on him with a heavy snort. Its tusks gleamed in the muted light coming down from the trees. Castiel froze, trying to back away, but there was nowhere to go – the brush was thick and the warthog was squealing in anger, heading straight towards him.

Then, Castiel was shoved to one side. He fell, went rolling, and sat up just in time to see Dean landing on the beast's back, Castiel's knife flashing in his hands. There was no anger on his face, or fear, but perhaps the most terrifying thing Castiel had seen in his life; cold, brutal precision. He plunged the knife into the beast's side, grunting when the animal caught him with one of its wicked-looking teeth, ripping into his side. Dean swung up onto the animal, like he was mounting his horse, and stabbed it again and again, until the animal's screams fell silent and it slumped to the ground under Dean's weight. He then slit its throat, just to be sure.

He looked like a God of War, his skin smeared with blood – both of the warthog and his own – he was breathing heavily, the first sheen of sweat coating his neck and chest where his shirt had been ripped by the animal's tusks. His hand still held the knife, a sure grip, capable, as he carefully extricated himself from the carcass, getting to his feet.

"Are you okay, Prince?" he asked, and Castiel snarled.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded, getting to his feet. "Are you insane?"

Dean frowned a little, cocking his head to one side. "I don't -."

"That thing could have _killed _you!" the Prince continued, stalking towards Dean. The slave pressed his lips together, looking over Castiel's face like he was trying to figure out an intricate puzzle. "Have you no regard for your own life?"

"My task is to protect you," Dean said coolly, shrugging his shoulder. "I would do it again. It is all I am good for."

Castiel pulled up short at that, blinking at the almost bitter edge to Dean's voice. He blew out a breath.

"Help me dress the animal," he said instead, kneeling down and pulling out a second knife, this time to cut off meat from the warthog and wrap it in fine oil paper to salt and store. Dean joined him silently, keeping Castiel's knife as he set himself to the task.

They worked in silence for a long while, packing the meat tightly and placing it in Castiel's pack, not saying a word. Dean's words troubled Castiel – all he was good for. What on Earth could that mean? When had Castiel told Dean that he wasn't good enough? When had he talked about Dean's prowess at all, for that matter?

"What did you do, back at your tribe?" he finally asked, when the carcass was mostly bone and the scent of raw meat covered their hands.

Dean's eyes flashed to his. "I was a hunter," he replied. "A good one. One of the best, they would say. But I have certain other…bad qualities. Shortcomings. That held me back."

Castiel frowned, cocking his head to one side. "Like what?" he asked, deliberately avoiding the slave's eyes.

Dean shook his head, looking down. "I was not very aggressive," he replied, shrugging one shoulder. "More defensive. That is not good in the tribe. You win by fighting. By winning. Not by defending." He bit his lip, looking back up at the Prince. "I killed a man. Several. Because they were trying to hurt my brother and I…" He shook his head. "Elders said I was only good for being a shield. So they sold me here. Couldn't kill me. No one could." He smirked a little. "Several tried."

"It sounds like you were a very good fighter," Castiel murmured, voice low and almost awed as he looked at Dean. The man's eyes were dark with memories – there were probably gallons of blood staining his skin, his soul. "Do you miss your brother?"

Dean let out a soft, bitter sound, and shook his head. "He is a good fighter. A good hunter. He does not need me."

"That's not what I meant," Castiel replied, almost too softly to be heard. Dean swallowed, pressing his lips together, and returned to wrapping the last of the meat, handing it over to Castiel to be packed. He then grabbed hold of a large dock leaf, wiping the hunting knife on the crisp leaf before holding it out for Castiel, gripping the blade so the handle was free.

"We should go back," he whispered, blinking once as Castiel took the knife, never looking away from the Barbarian. "Before light fades."

Castiel licked his lips. "Okay." He pushed himself to his feet, huffing as he tried to heft the heavy bag back across his shoulder, but before he could Dean had taken the pack, easily hauling it onto his back. Castiel's brow furrowed, and he pressed his lips together, but said nothing – Dean _was_ meant to be a slave, after all. Castiel had to remember that.

The walk back was uneventful, tense in the awkward silence as Castiel restrained himself from asking any more of the Barbarian – it seemed that the selling of Dean was even more complicated and hurtful to the man than he had originally thought. Yes, being a slave was one thing, but being sold into slavery to a 'weaker' society simply because of a fighting style seemed a little…extreme.

The Barbarians were truly a strange civilization.

He ordered Dean to deliver the meat to the cellars, and made his way upstairs. He was tired from the hunt, more drained than he ought to be considering he hadn't actually done all that much. It seemed like Dean's presence was destined to put him on edge and wear him out until he got used to interacting with the Barbarian.

Castiel licked his lips, running a hand through his hair as he let himself linger over the sight of Dean killing the warthog. Such cold, cut precision – Castiel had to wonder how Dean fought, how this 'defender' would work in a Barbarian society. He seemed frightening enough for Castiel. And what, exactly, had he been 'defending'?

When Dean returned to him, Castiel immediately told the slave to follow him. He had questions he wanted to answer. "Come, this way," he said, jerking his head and ordering the slave to follow him. Dean did, ever the silent and obedient shadow by his side. "When you fought," Castiel asked, heading towards the training hall – Lord Balthazar should not be in there at this time – "did you use weapons? Blades?"

"Hands, mostly, Prince," Dean replied, his voice low and a little tense with nerves as he followed the Royal. Castiel nodded to himself, pressing his lips together, and pushed open the small side door that led to the training hall. The candles were still gently sputtering in their bowls, low golden light cast over the room. "What is this?"

"This is where I have been taught to fight," Castiel replied, smiling a little and turning around to face Dean. "I want to see you." He raised his hands, holding them out either side of him. "Fight me."

Dean's eyes widened in horror. He took a step back, fingers clenching nervously by his sides. "What?"

"Attack me, Dean," Castiel said, taking a step forward, letting more of the order slip into his voice. "You say you're meant to be able to defend me? How can I know you're better than me if we do not fight? _Fight me_. Attack!"

"I do not attack!" Dean snapped, growling low, eyes flashing in the golden light of the candles. He bucked his head like a skittish horse, one shoulder back so he stood side-on to Castiel, eyeing the Prince warily. "I will not hurt you."

Castiel growled low, and swung, his fist aiming for Dean's head. Dean's body moved in a whirl and Castiel was suddenly aware that he was swinging at air. The Barbarian had danced away, light on his feet. He made another low, annoyed sound. Dean sucked in a breath. "No, Prince."

"Do it, Dean!" he demanded, running forward and swinging again – this time a swift jab aimed for the Barbarian's ribs. In a move swifter than he could follow, the slave had a strong but gentle grip around his wrist, diverting the motion to make Castiel's blow go under his arm, the Prince's momentum sending him crashing into the Barbarian's strong chest.

"No, Prince," Dean whispered, his eyes soft as he let go of Castiel's wrist, sliding his hand slowly up the Prince's arm, to his shoulder, warm palm flattening over his neck. The black of his tattoo seemed darker and hell-black against his skin, the feral side of him just reined in, his body trembling with restrained power. "I will not hurt you."

Castiel pressed his lips together, inhaling deeply the scent of blood and dirt still clinging to the Barbarian's skin and clothes. The slow drag of Dean's teeth over his bottom lip was mesmerizing, and Castiel swallowed, watching the Barbarian's face as Dean's eyes tracked across his own. "Dean."

"I can't hurt you, Prince," Dean whispered, almost pained. "I am sworn to protect you."

The Royal's eyes flashed. "Fine," he snapped, tearing himself away from the Barbarian's grip, and headed towards the rack of weapons that Lord Balthazar had left out. His favored weapon was not there, but there was still a wicked-looking blade, curved like the Eastern tribes use, and serrated on one edge. He picked it up and turned around to face Dean. "Protect me."

"What?" Dean asked, body tense.

"Protect me," Castiel repeated, voice hard. He pushed up one of his sleeves and held the knife dangerously close to the inside of his wrist, keeping his eyes fixed on the Barbarian's face, waiting for Dean to realize what he intended to do.

Suddenly Castiel found himself pressed against the ground, coughing as he accidentally inhaled the dusty sawdust-covered ground. He growled, pushing back only to still when he felt long fingers spreading over the back of his neck, holding him down, the arm that was holding his knife firmly held behind his back, pressed against the dip made by how his spine arched off the ground. He then became aware of Dean – Dean's body, strong legs spread over Castiel's hips, straddling him and keeping him down – Dean's breath, low and steady on the side of his neck, skating across his sensitive skin. His fingers curled loosely around themselves, nails digging into the palm of his free hand, as Dean gently coaxed the knife out of his grip and laid it down by his side, shoving it away.

"Prince," Dean whispered, growling low like an animal, his lips brushing against the fingers on the back of Castiel's neck, breath moist and hot. "Please. Don't."

"You're fast," Castiel gasped out, turning his head to one side to meet Dean's eyes. He tested Dean's bindings against him, found the Barbarian hard and unyielding; his grip too gentle to believe that it was capable of holding him down. "And strong."

Dean smiled, his eyes fluttering closed. "I am yours," he murmured, grip slightly tightening before brushing up the Prince's arm again, the hand on his neck moving away. Castiel suddenly found himself on his back, staring up at the Barbarian as Dean settled, a warm, solid weight, over his hips. Castiel swallowed as Dean's fingers closed gently over the Prince's biceps. "To do anything you want with. Anything you wish of me." He paused, cocking his head to one side. "Why did you try to hurt yourself?"

Castiel blinked, licking his lips. "I wanted to see you fight."

Dean chuckled, a smile curving his mouth, flashing white teeth, his warm body flattening a little over Castiel's as he arched, fingers spreading out, warm and gentle, over Castiel's shoulders, freeing his arms. Castiel swallowed, looking up at the beautiful man sitting on him, Dean's skin glowing in the candlelight – he blushed, feeling himself start to harden as the thoughts of Dean, naked, strung out, wanting, restarted in his mind. Seated as he was, there was no way that Dean didn't feel it. The Prince flushed harder when Dean let out a soft little sound, eyes widening in surprise, his hips rolling experimentally against Castiel's hard flesh.

The Prince growled, back arching as he tried to resist the urge to grind against his slave. "Dean. Stop that."

"I…" The slave paused again, taking in a short, shaky breath. "Prince?"

He seemed so innocent – so unknowing, as he stared down at Castiel. But the Prince knew the power in his hands and the Hunter gleam in his eyes; how he could not know, not _feel_, was beyond Castiel. He licked his lips, smiling a little when he saw Dean's eyes flash to the motion. His fingers curled and he lifted his arms, tentatively flattening them over Dean's flanks.

"Dean," he whispered lowly in reply, and the Barbarian pressed his lips together, leaning down, fingers tripping upwards to lightly curl in Castiel's hair.

"Can I?" The Barbarian's eyes were wide and unsure. He licked his lips and Castiel mimicked him.

"Anything you wish," the Prince replied breathlessly, and Dean smiled, leaning down the last few inches to press their mouths together.

Dean's lips were just as gentle as the rest of him, soft and warm as they pressed against Castiel's. The soft, slow slide of their mouths together was everything Castiel had not expected from a Barbarian – the idea that they kissed at all, and not just rutted on the ground like animals, blew him away. Dean's fingers curled a little more tightly in the Prince's dark hair, his body rocking down to press with more insistence against Castiel's arousal.

Dean pulled away, just for a moment, panting harshly like a war horse, his lips wet when he licked them again, shining with spit, his eyes blown as dark as his wild-looking tattoo. "Prince," he gasped, and then dove in again. There it was – the passion, the power, whirling just underneath Dean's skin. Castiel felt it now, tight in the finely trembling muscles of Dean's body, in the rhythmic clenching of his thighs as his hips rolled like the finest exotic dancer in Michael's harem, his fingers grabbing tightly, desperately, in the Prince's thick hair.

Castiel moaned low, his mouth parting to breathe – it seemed impossible to get enough air through his nose. Dean immediately took advantage, tilting his head, tongue sliding out, just slightly, to lick along Castiel's lower lip. It was a question, a plea; Castiel growled softly again, feeling how Dean thrust his hips harder against his, the Prince's arousal rubbing deliciously against the solid heat between Dean's legs.

"Dean," Castiel whispered, the name muffled against the needy press of Dean's mouth as the Barbarian kissed him again, and again – chaste presses of lips mixing with long, dirty slides of tongue and nips of teeth. The Prince arched up again, hips rolling, trying desperately to get that perfect friction between Dean's legs. "So beautiful, Dean – perfect. You're perfect."

Dean blushed, biting his lower lip and smiling a little, eyes ducking demurely as he nuzzled into the dip between Castiel's cheek and nose, lipping at the curve of the Prince's cheek. A low rumble echoed in his chest and it took Castiel a moment to realize that Dean was purring.

Castiel gasped, eyes fluttering closed when Dean shifted his weight just a little, and he _felt_ Dean – felt the Barbarian's own hard line of heat, his erection pressing against Castiel's own, rubbing so deliciously. It felt so good, so amazingly good – he lost himself in the feeling of Dean's skin, under his shirt, across the bulge of his arms, the feeling of his strong thighs through his trousers. He lost himself in the Barbarian's kiss, learning Dean's mouth, teaching him through example what Castiel liked, repeating the slow, long lick along Dean's lip that made the slave shudder and moan.

Dean's back was sensitive – Castiel found this out when his hands flattened, his nails digging in, and the Barbarian let out a low, mewling sound, shoulders dipping, entire body going lax. His grip abruptly loosened – like the ultimate surrender. Castiel used the opportunity to sit up, wrapping his arms tight around the slave as Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel's shoulders, sliding their hips more closely together until they shuddered.

"Dean. I want you to -."

"I'm trying."

"Let me…"

"_Prince_."

Dean shuddered through his orgasm with a low moan, burying his face in Castiel's neck as he clung to the Prince, blushing hard. The scent of Dean's seed was bitter, sweat and salt mixing together in an explosion of smell. The low growl of Dean in the throes of orgasm was enough to set Castiel off. He dug his nails into Dean's flank, biting his lip to muffle his sound as he came, flooding his trousers with his seed.

"Prince, Prince…" Dean was repeating his name, a low mantra as he moaned softly against Castiel's neck, pressing his lips to the throbbing pulse in the Prince's throat. "I'm yours, Prince, I'm yours…"

"Mine," Castiel growled in assent, breathing hard as he tried to calm himself from his orgasm. He was breathing hard, sweat lining the back of his neck, making his hair curl against the nape of his neck. Dean's fingers curled around the back of the Prince's neck, smiling a little shyly, blushing hard. "You are mine, Dean. My beautiful, perfect Barbarian." He brushed a finger down the side of Dean's face, tracing the edges of his tattoo. Red really was Dean's color.

The candles were almost dead, sputtering weakly in their bowls. Almost half of them were out by now. "Dean…"

"I need to protect you," Dean whispered, nuzzling close to Castiel, thighs clenching a little tighter around the Prince's waist. "I…I want…"

"Shh." Castiel leaned in, pressing his lips against the smiling corner of Dean's mouth. "Do you swear your loyalty to me, to the crown?"

Dean blinked. "I have. I do."

"Then that is all. I know you will fulfill every duty amazingly."

Dean hesitated for a moment. "_Every_ duty?" he whispered, eyes flashing to Castiel's, dark and forest-green. Castiel smiled, brushing his hand over the side of Dean's face again.

"Everything I ask of you, yes?"

Dean nodded eagerly, fingers curling more tightly around Castiel's neck as he pressed his lips to the Prince's. "I want to be everything. Anything you ask of me. I swear it."

"Remember that promise, Dean." Castiel's voice was low and warning, enough of an order in his voice that Dean's body trembled, the feral light in his eyes gleaming again.

Dean smiled. "Always."


	28. Roommate

**Title:** Roommate  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>PairingsCharacters:** Dean/Castiel  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> heat!trope, Alpha!Cas/Omega!Dean  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~4,500  
><strong>Summary:<strong> After Dean's first heat when he was eighteen, the young man had gone straight onto heat suppressants – he didn't have time to find a mate, after all. That had been five years ago. It was time to settle down. Start a family.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Written for this lovely girl's birthday 'cause she's lovely! Hope you like it bb!  
><strong>Disclaimers: <strong>I own nothing.

* * *

><p>After Dean's first heat when he was eighteen, the young man had gone straight onto heat suppressants – he didn't have time to find a mate, after all. There was Sam to look after until he flew the coop, his dad's company to run with him, and his own education to look after before he could even think of settling down with a mate.<p>

That had been five years ago. Sam was off, a full-fledged Alpha with a scholarship to Stanford, his dad was looking forward to an early semi-retirement with some of the kids looking for internships from the neighborhood around to help him, and Dean had gotten his GED.

It was time to settle down. Start a family. Knew there was only a small window for Omegas like him to safely bear children and that window was rapidly closing. Without a mate it would disappear completely and, well…Dean had looked after Sam all his life. Even when he didn't have to. Family was the most important thing in the world and he wanted to take care of something again, have his own family and continue the Winchester line.

His suppressants would keep him safe as he moved to the city – would make sure no one thought twice about his unmated status, assumed he was an Alpha or Beta until a strong enough mate showed himself and overrode the effects of the suppressants, essentially forcing a heat. It wasn't a perfect system, but Dean trusted his instincts, and his own body, and knew enough to make sure his head was just as into a mating as his body was.

So he packed up his bags and told his dad he was leaving. The Alpha had looked at him with that same appraising stare he'd met all his life, and then smiled. "Well, knew this day would be coming," he said, with that same kind of tone he talked with when ordering a new part for a car – something fond and wistful, something he knew would cost him but was for the best. He stood from his old, worn armchair and went to the mantelpiece where a few smoldering pieces of wood still lay from their earlier fire, and fished an envelope out of an old, battered copy of 'Great Expectations' that Sam used to read to Dean as soon as he figured out how to. Bored the shit out of the older boy but it made Sam happy so he had learned to deal.

Inside of that envelope was eight hundred dollars. "To help get you started," John had said. "Take the Impala."

Took all Dean had not to hug the living stuffing out of his father. Even as an Omega, he was still a Winchester. Still had to keep it cool on the emotional side. Still, maybe their eyes were wet when he shook hands with his father and picked up all his stuff, packed the Impala and drove away.

* * *

><p>"Hello?"<p>

The voice on the other end of the line was gruffer than one Dean would expect from someone at one in the afternoon on a Sunday, but he shrugged it off. "Hey, um, my name is Dean Winchester and I saw you were looking for a roommate." He ducked his head, shuffling through the paper that declared a two-bedroom apartment up for half-rent at a reasonable rate – non-smoker, quiet roommate, living with a work-from-home computer program designer right in the middle of where Dean had managed to land a job in a coffee shop – money first, then a place to live. Seemed logical.

"Oh. Yes, of course." The voice seemed to clear up a little, but became no less gruff – rough and low like he was angry at something or trying to control himself. Made Dean shiver a little. "You're interested in the apartment?"

"Yeah, man, sounds like my kind of place."

"You don't mind mess?"

Dean laughed. "I'm sure I can deal with clutter, if that's what you mean."

A small snort made its way through the receiver. "Yes. Clutter." The man cleared his throat. "Alright, Dean Winchester. I have a few questions, of course – would you prefer to come here to converse in person or we can continue over the phone?"

"Uh, in person's good, if you're not busy."

"I'm good at pretending I am," came the man's amused reply. "I can see you today at four, if that's alright with you."

"Yeah." Dean smiled, clearing his throat, amazed at how well this was going. "See you then…?" He trailed off, waiting for the name.

"Castiel Novak."

"Castiel."

"See you at four, Dean."

"Yeah. Bye."

* * *

><p><em>Blue.<em>

That was the first thing that struck Dean about Castiel – the man's eyes were very, very blue, almost unnatural in how brightly colored they were, set beneath a ruff of unruly dark black-brown hair and above the plush swell of his lips. Dean coughed, feeling himself flush, and ducked his head, smiling a little.

"Um, hey, Castiel Novak?" he asked awkwardly, holding out his hand. The man looked down at his hand just long enough for Dean to feel awkward doing it, before he seemed to relax, sliding his dry palm into Dean's hand and shaking it.

He smiled. "Dean Winchester. Lovely to meet you. Please come in," he said, stepping away from the door and Dean followed his gesture into the apartment. At first, he wasn't sure what the 'mess' was meant to be referring to – the apartment looked clean and open, sunlight coming in through a large window on the far side, a half-wall separating a kitchen unit off to the right and a two closed doors side-by-side to the left. In front of the kitchen and on the other side of the half-wall, however, he saw what Castiel had been talking about. There were piles and piles of books, all neatly and almost obsessively stacked in height order with the smallest on the top of the stack, and there were a lot of them, all placed around what Dean, from the shape, had to guess was a pile of beanbags and blankets with an open and gently-whirring laptop on top of them. He raised a brow at the other man and Castiel flushed slightly, rubbing his hands on his thighs. "Sit down. Let's talk."

There were two stools in the kitchen along the half-wall, across from the oven and next to the fridge. It was in the sunlight and Dean found the contrast between warmth and the chill of the fridge pleasant on his skin. "So," he said when Castiel didn't say anything for a while, "I suppose you wanna get the biggest question out of the way."

Castiel smiled slightly, cocking his head to one side, and still said nothing.

"I'm an Omega," Dean said, ducking his eyes for a moment and looking at the ground. "I have a job already here and I'm on heat suppressants."

"Alright."

Dean looked up again, startled, his gaze locking with those bright blue eyes. "Yeah?" he asked – he knew that some Alphas and Betas could be a little funny about Omegas going to work and owning property, and though Castiel hadn't told him, he had a suspicion that the blue-eyed man wasn't a fellow Omega. "That's alright with you?"

Castiel snorted again, smiling in a way that only moved one corner of his mouth, almost a smirk but more fond. "My little sister is an Omega and she owns one of the largest corporations on the west coast. I don't judge," he said, shrugging a little. "Do you have any long-term plans if you meet an Alpha?"

"No," Dean confessed, "but I'll pay for four months and move out as soon as possible so you can get another tenant, if you want. I don't want to be an inconvenience."

Castiel's eyes sparked when he smiled again. "I don't think we'll have a problem, then, Dean," he said, standing, and the Omega hurried to follow suit. "Like it said in the ad, I work from home, but I can get pretty focused so don't worry about disturbing me. If you want guests, of course that's fine, I only ask for warning if you plan on bringing many people around, so I can move my stuff out of the way."

"Yeah, 'course," Dean said, nodding – sounded like a dream come true. The apartment was almost right next to his work and Castiel seemed so accommodating. Dean had heard stories of people in the city and he knew how lucky he was finding someone who seemed willing to let him have his own space.

"Would you like to see your room?"

Dean hesitated. "Can I ask you the most important question, too?" he asked.

Castiel smiled that half-smile again. "I'm an Alpha," he said, looking back towards Dean and meeting his eye dead-on, almost in challenge, enough that Dean ducked his gaze away immediately. The Omega swallowed, feeling himself flush, a fine tremor running down his spine at the sound of Castiel's gruff voice – he almost purred the word 'Alpha', and Dean could see it; feel it, as soon as he knew what to look for. One didn't spend their entire life with two very dominant Alphas without getting a feel for that sort of thing.

"Alright."

"Good. Let me give you the grand tour."

* * *

><p>Dean's room was smaller than the one he had had back home. But it was still roomy enough, with a large enough bed that even someone his size could comfortably sprawl on. There was a wardrobe on the other side of the bed, furthest away from the door, next to a small window that looked out into the parking lot behind the building. He smiled, looking down and seeing his baby sitting in the apartment's second allocated parking spot.<p>

The first thing he did was open up his laptop and send an email to Sam and Dad, telling them he had settled and found a job and things were going well. He didn't want them worrying about him – after all, he was the only Omega in the family, the first one for generations, and though they didn't exactly mother him he knew they would worry if he was silent for long enough.

Didn't take long for Sam to call him.

"You're living with an Alpha?" was his first question, and Dean rolled his eyes.

"I lived with you and Dad for, like, nineteen years, dude. Chill."

"That's different, Dean – we were blood. This guy is just some stranger and he's an _Alpha_, Dean. What if he turns out to be a complete asshole?"

"Then I'll leave," Dean snapped back, rolling his eyes again. Okay, maybe he'd been wrong about the mothering thing, but it was easy to pass off Sam's behavior as bitchy little-brother whining more than mothering. "There's nothing keeping me here, Sam. He knows I'm on suppressants, that I'm not just looking for a fuck, alright? I'll be fine."

"But what if they fail?" came Sam's quiet reply after a long moment of silence. Dean sighed. "No, Dean, listen to me. What if you do meet an Alpha – I'm not even saying him – and they fail because that Alpha is meant to be your mate but it's in the wrong place and he takes advantage of you? I've never met the guy, how can I trust him with my big brother?"

"Jesus, Sam," Dean gasped, exasperated. "Don't you trust me?"

"I've seen Omegas in heat, Dean. Smart guys and girls who just turn into…into _messes_ when it hits them hard enough. I don't want you to get into a bad situation."

"I'll be fine," Dean said emphatically. He rubbed the bridge of his nose, wincing slightly. It was too fucking soon for thoughts like this. He was getting a headache. "I don't want to talk about this anymore. If I go into heat, you'll be the first to know, okay?"

Sam made an annoyed sound over the other end of the phone, but left it at that, which Dean was thankful for. They talked about other things, like Sam's new girlfriend Jess – a Beta – and his plans for after law school and Dean's new job and if he was going to maybe get a second one or start his own business like Dad had. Little things. Petty things. Things that brothers didn't get to talk about when they lived across country from each other.

* * *

><p>Castiel gave no notice that he heard Dean come home. He never did and Dean didn't take it personally – the guy wasn't kidding when he said that he got really focused on his work. His fingers flew over his keyboard, a constant <em>click-click-click <em>as he entered in pieces of code or edited software or whatever it was he was meant to be doing at that point in time.

Dean went into his room, schlepping off his coffee-stained clothes and pulling on a pair of sweatpants, slinging a towel over his shoulder and heading into the main bathroom.

It had been seven weeks since Dean moved in, and the pair had established a kind of routine. Dean got up before Castiel did but went to bed way earlier, always made sure there was fresh coffee in the timed machine and leftover breakfast if he made enough. He usually picked up groceries on the way home from the coffee shop since his walk home took him that way, and Castiel tended to cook dinner if he wasn't in one of his mindsets. Curled up in those blankets and that…well Dean could only really describe it as a nest, he had to wonder if there had been times when Castiel wouldn't sleep at all – just dozed off in that pallet of his, the computer gently whirring away until he jerked awake again.

There was one thing that really sold this place for Dean – the water pressure was fucking fantastic, beating down hot water on his tense shoulders. That stupid head kept getting stuck, was gonna give him carpal tunnel if he kept going like this. He needed a day off, but had worked pretty much every shift he could get in an effort to keep himself busy, to get as much money stored away as he could, just in case. Always just in case.

He shivered, frowning at the bottom of the bathtub as the water suddenly turned hotter. Had Castiel turned on the sink outside? He waited a second, to see if the pressure would let up or the temperature would regulate, but it didn't – it felt colder. Shivering, he shoved at the water gage until it was at the highest red setting, and steam billowed up around his body, but he was still freezing cold. The water felt like ice against his skin, but when he looked down he was red-skinned and had no goosebumps.

He shuddered again and turned the water off, gasping when he suddenly felt frozen again. His fingers curled close and his nails dug into his palms tight enough to break skin and he took in a deep breath, shivering again. The bathroom was almost opaque with steam, the water still burning hot on his skin but he couldn't stop shivering.

Maybe he was coming down with something.

He toweled off and slid into sweatpants again, hurrying to his bedroom again in an attempt to find more clothes to put on. A long-sleeved shirt, a button-down over that, sweatpants and a hoodie, still did nothing. He was shivering uncontrollably, and without any other idea he curled up under the thick duvet on his bed, wrapping it tight around his body, and shivered again.

"Dean?" There was a gentle touch on his shoulder, and the Omega blinked awake, groaning softly as he rolled over onto his back, looking up into the concerned gaze of his Alpha companion. Castiel frowned a little, resting a freezing palm to Dean's forehead and the Omega shivered again – the frost was gone and now he was warm – unbearably warm.

He grunted softly, throwing his blanket off him and tearing the hoodie and button-down off over his head, breathing hard. He was _burning_, almost shaking with how warm he was, breathing hard to try and cool himself down and he blinked, trying to focus on Castiel as the Alpha watched him warily. "What time is it?" he asked, rubbing the heel of his hand into his eye.

"Almost ten at night," Castiel murmured, looking Dean up and down. "Dean, tell me what happened today."

"What?" Dean asked, groggy and snappy after the troubled nap.

"Tell. Me. What happened today," Castiel repeated, one hand moving to the back of Dean's neck and clenching tightly, and something inside of Dean just…bent. Snapped. The Omega whined softly, ducking his body down and away from Castiel's hold, breathing hard as he went tense and still under the Alpha's powerful touch.

"Shit," Castiel muttered, releasing his grip and stepping away. Dean looked up at him, eyes glazed over, lips parted as he tried to breathe – even as out of it as he felt, he could see the deep blackness of Castiel's large pupils, the slight flush on his cheeks, the undeniable bulge tenting his jeans. "Shit. Dean. Have you taken your suppressants?"

Dean frowned. "'Course," he murmured, shaking his head to try and clear it. God damn it, why was it so hard to focus? "I always do, Cas – what are you -?"

"I haven't been around a lot of Omegas," Castiel murmured, sounding almost nervous as he rubbed a hand through his hair. "Granted, never had the opportunity, but I know that smell. Always know that smell. I -."

"Woah, Cas, what are you -?"

"Can't you tell?" the Alpha demanded, whirling on Dean with an almost angry light in his eyes, and Dean ducked his gaze again without quite knowing why. "You're in _heat, _Dean. You smell like…" He pressed his lips together, sucking in a deep breath. "You smell so _good_."

"But I haven't…" Dean frowned, looking up at Castiel again. "But there was no one new at work. No one who – and I. I haven't. How?"

"I don't know, I…" Castiel trailed off, shaking his head, and ran a hand through his hair again, pressing his lips together. "Dean, do you want me to leave? I need to…I need to know if you want me to leave."

"What?" Dean looked up, feeling more helpless than he had in his entire life, since his first heat – and then it slammed into him. _Heat_. He swallowed, taking off his long-sleeved shirt as well and shoving the blankets off his legs – he was too damn _hot_. "I don't…" He swallowed again, sighing hard, rubbing his sweaty palms up and down his thighs. He knew, without feeling, that the wetness covering his body, between his legs, was not entirely sweat. The memory was distant but he knew, if he reached between his legs and felt, he would find himself wet and open, ready to receive an Alpha knot and milk an Alpha for seed.

He looked up at Castiel again – the Alpha's fists were tightly clenched and Dean could see that he was shaking – and shook his head. "Cas. Please." He reached out, fingers trembling and Castiel just stared at his hand for a long, long second.

"Dean," he whispered, voice sounding weak. "You know that -."

"There hasn't been another Alpha I've told the time of day to, Cas," Dean said, more strongly than he felt. "Please."

Without another word, Castiel slid onto the bed beside Dean, kneeling close to the Omega as he gently laid a palm to the side of Dean's face, thumb tracing over the ridge of his cheekbone. Felt so damn good already and Dean was shaking.

"I don't know how this happened," he confessed, laying a hand over Castiel's as the Alpha took in a deep breath, nostrils flaring wide at the scent of the fertile Omega male, shifting closer. They were close enough that Dean could lean forward and kiss Castiel if he wanted to. "I was careful and I…it's been almost two months and -."

"You remember that party you invited me to?" Castiel murmured, interrupting him, as he leaned in closer, eyelids lowering as he rested their foreheads together. Dean took in a deep breath, the potent Alpha smell sinking right into his very core and he shuddered again. "The staff night out for the coffee shop – you invited me and you didn't remember what happened that night."

Dean blinked. "Drink too much?"

"Evidently," Castiel replied with a slight smirk, a flash of his eyes.

"What happened?"

"You never left my side," Castiel breathed, smiling a little, eyes darting between Dean's and the blood-flushed swell of the Omega's lips. "Kept yourself close to me all night. When someone tried to talk to me, you…" He closed his eyes, shook his head. "People assumed we were mated already and you never corrected them. Not once. Never looked at another Alpha, either."

Dean swallowed, shifting a little closer, moving so his legs moved from under the blanket and he was kneeling in front of Castiel also, brushing a hand through the Alpha's sweat-damp hair.

"I think your head already knew you were mine," the Alpha murmured.

Dean couldn't take it anymore – Castiel smelled so good, and he was burning hot – he felt like he needed to run a thousand smiles and then dive into an icy ocean. He surged forward, smashing his lips against the Alpha's, and Castiel let him – fisted his hands in Dean's hair and let the Omega roll them over so he straddled the older man's hips. Didn't take him long to find the hard length of Castiel's cock, rolled his hips until it fell perfectly against the moist material of his sweatpants.

_"Fuck_," he gasped out, breathless, biting at Castiel's mouth as he rolled his hips, already so desperate to satisfy the heat – _needed _something in a way he hadn't since he was eighteen. Felt like he was slowly being stretched out on a burning metal rack, and Castiel was a promising balm if he just lasted long enough. "Please, Cas, _please -."_

"Hush, Dean," Castiel murmured, rolling them both over again, settling between Dean's legs and it felt so Goddamn _nice _– Dean rolled his hips up, legs wrapping tight around Castiel's hips and dragging him down, closer, nails dragging harshly through his hair, across his scalp. "Such a beautiful Omega – have you ever done this before, Dean?"

The Omega swallowed, biting his lip, and shook his head.

"Fuck," Castiel whispered, burying his face in Dean's neck, fingers yanking anxiously at their clothes to get the damp, hot slide of skin on skin and Dean moaned, loudly, when Castiel's warm hand wrapped around both their cocks and stroked them together. "A _virgin._"

Dean blushed, biting his lip, and swallowed loudly, gasping out Castiel's name as the Alpha's thumb stroked over the head, through the slit, and then dipped down, teasing, testing, and Dean could only whine and tilt his hips in invitation when Castiel's probing fingers found his wet entrance. Would embarrass him otherwise, knowing how wet he was, how much Castiel's touch and his own heat was affecting him, but that feeling melted away into another, much sharper warmth when Castiel moaned more loudly than he did, one finger slipping inside with no resistance.

"_Dean,_" Castiel growled loudly, fingers digging tightly into the meat of Dean's thighs. "Can I?"

_"Yes," _Dean replied, whining loudly, fingernails gripping Castiel's shoulders through his t-shirt and gasping, unable to believe this was happening. Then, Castiel's fingers were back, two this time, sliding into his body so easily, like he was meant to be there, and Dean _howled_ when he felt them twist _up, _touching something that set fire off behind his eyes. "Cas, just do it!"

The Alpha snarled – a low growl that rumbled throughout the room, and rolled Dean over, pressing a hand to the back of Dean's neck and forcing him down. Some dark, needy part of Dean that flared at the heat submitted to that dominant press and he whined, biting at the pillow of his bed and spreading his legs for the Alpha.

There was nothing so easy as letting Castiel deep inside of his body, the Alpha's cock sliding into his wet channel as easy as anything. Dean moaned loud enough that he was sure the next door neighbors could hear him, even muffled into the pillow, and Castiel growled, clenching his eyes tightly shut, bending forward to rest his forehead at the back of Dean's sweaty neck, against his fingers where they lay.

"Dean," he whispered, trembling with the effort to hold still, to let the Omega adjust as he sank in as deep as he could, shaking at the slick, hot feeling of the Omega's tight ass. "So _wet_."

"Come on, Cas, fuck me," Dean growled, clenching tight and rocking his hips back, trying to get him deeper. Castiel snarled at that, free hand gripping Dean's hip tight as he pulled back until the head of his cock just caught on Dean's wet rim, before fucking back in. Already he could feel his knot swelling at the base of his cock, itching to be buried inside of Dean, but he was determined to last, to make the Omega's first mating a pleasurable experience.

Dean, however, seemed completely against the idea of patience. "God damn it, just _do it!" _Dean growled, snapping his hips back and hilting Castiel inside of him in one thrust. His shoulders went tense, body locking down around Castiel and the Alpha was helpless to obey the pull, the call of the Omega's heat. He snarled, moving his hand to bite down at the back of Dean's neck, sheathing his teeth in the Omega's sweat-damp skin, and thrust forward into Dean once more.

That was all it took for Dean to come – the Omega howled again, shuddering through his orgasm, and Castiel couldn't wait any longer – couldn't, because Dean was clenching so unbelievably tightly and he itched to bury his knot inside of the Omega's willing body.

"Going to knot you, Dean," Castiel growled, dragging a hand through Dean's hair again, jerking his head back as he mouthed at the length of Dean's neck. "You want it, my beautiful Omega? Want my knot?"

"God _damn it, _yes!" Dean snarled, turning his head to look Castiel in the eye. "Gonna fuckin' give it to me?"

Castiel laughed. "Still so needy," he murmured, sucking a dark mark onto the back of Dean's neck, over his bite. He shoved forward as far as he could go, gritting his teeth as he felt the knot start to swell, and rutted forward until he felt Dean's rim give way, sealing him tight inside of the Omega's desperate body.

"Fuck," Dean grunted, hissing slightly as he felt the Alpha's knot shove inside of him, swell and lock them together. Felt so Goddamn satisfying in a way he hadn't felt since…well, forever. Even more so when Castiel stilled, shuddering inside of him, and Dean felt the first spurts of come filling up his insides. Now he'd reek of Castiel – he relaxed into the bed, practically purring in satisfaction as Castiel's hands stroked up and down his sides in a soothing way.

"That was…" Castiel trailed off, licking lightly at the back of Dean's neck, nuzzling into his sweaty hair. "That was amazing, Dean."

"Yeah," Dean croaked, chuckling slightly as he turned his head, grinning up at the Alpha. "Yeah, definitely worth the wait."

"Glad you think so."

Dean laughed again, settling into the bed, and shifting his weight, moving Castiel with him so they ended up laying on their sides on the bed, Castiel spooned up behind him. "How long does the knot usually last?" he asked.

"About an hour. Why?"

"'Cause we need to test out your shower after. Definitely a fault in the water."

"Oh really?" came Castiel's amused voice and Dean grinned.

"Yep. Definitely. Will need long and extensive examination, I think."

Castiel smiled, leaning up on one elbow and turned Dean's chin to face him, pressing a light kiss to Dean's mouth. "Then we should definitely look into it."


	29. Beneath A Moonless Sky

**Title:** Beneath A Moonless Sky  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Pairings:<strong> Dean/Castiel  
><strong>Rating: <strong>NC-17  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~2500  
><strong>Spoilers: <strong>Um…S5/S6x03 ish?  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Dean can't leave this life behind without experiencing the alternative, just once.  
><strong>NotesWarnings:**Okay…Um…*doesn't have an excuse* I was listening to 'Beneath the Moonless Sky' from 'Love Never Dies' (Phantom 2) and thought 'OMG IT'S DEAN/CAS' and, yeah, my brain is an idiot. Shameless sacrilege and butchering of two fandoms simultaneously. Kind of wussy!Dean? Sex?

Phantom's part is in bold, Christine's is in italics. Um…God, I can't even *slinks away*

* * *

><p><strong>You came and found where I hid,<br>don't you deny that you did  
>that long ago night.<strong>

His breathing mists heavily in the cold, dark night, and he runs, panting, searching around. He can't see a thing but he can feel eyes on him, and he's running, towards the caves. The caves, where _he _is, and his body's shaking, sweating from exhaustion and exertion and anticipation, his hands are shaking and it's not just from the cold.

That night.

The caves on the side of the mountain range are cold and unwelcoming. Nothing lives here so far as Dean can tell, in so far as he's ever been here to see them, but the air feels alive, brushing against his skin like a caress he craves, and he bends his fingers bloody against the hard stone as he climbs. Sweat sticks his clothes to his skin, baring it, darkening the colors of black and green and blue, and he's climbing as fast as he can in the non-light of the moonless sky.

**Once there was a night**  
><strong>beneath a moonless sky,<strong>  
><strong>too dark to see a thing<strong>  
><strong>too dark to even try.<strong>

_I stole to your side,  
>to tell you I must go.<em>

He can't let it end like this, to leave and never come back, to never know what could have been, what might have been. He has to try but he's afraid – his heart is beating out of his chest, making a home for itself in his throat and he's scared – he's allowed to be scared, just this once. There's no light to reflect in his eyes but he can hear _him. _Close.

_I couldn't see your face,  
>but sensed you even so.<em>

_He's _not a ghost. He makes noise, and Dean can hear his breathing. The soft non-light silhouettes Dean against the cliff face when he stands and greets the gaping maw of the largest cave pock-marking the side of the mountain, and his body is aware. Sensing the Angel – _his _Angel – nearby, something others fear and loathe, that he trembles in the face of greeting again, but _he knows._

**And I touched you.**  
><em>And I felt you.<em>

Dean doesn't fight back when he feels a warm body slide up behind his own, and a hand goes across his chest, thumb digging into the side of his face and pushing him away from another's, another's lips that find his bared pulse and kiss there, another's body that presses against him as though he's being welcomed home, and another hand goes under his arm, joins the first above his heart, and he's being held and he doesn't fight, can't fight, is a slave to his Angel once again, as he always was, entranced and taken over by the rhythm and beautiful music dancing in the air.

_**And I heard those ravishing refrains. **_  
><em>The music of your pulse.<em>  
><strong>The singing in your veins.<strong>

His body is alight, his eyes falling closed, letting the other touch him, caress him with gentle hands, lips brushing down and along his neck and then up under his ear, lets the hand around his chin drag lower down, nails digging just slightly, and lets the hand settle around his throat, so trusting, so willing, and his body arches into it, trusts his Angel not to hurt him, to love him as he claimed he did so often, so vehemently. The pounding in his head loses its fear and takes on a new kind of urgency, one that only awakens when he's around this other.

_And I held you._  
><strong>And I touched you.<strong>  
><em>And embraced you.<em>  
><strong>And I felt you.<br>**_**And with every breath and every sigh.**_

"They can dress you all in white," the voice whispers, that smooth, hypnotic voice that sends lightning shards of pleasure down Dean's spine, and he bares his teeth and his neck, lets his Angel lay a mark there with his teeth and his hands. "And dress me all in black."

He's gone, suddenly, but he's not a ghost. He's not an imagining or a memory. He's _real _and he's _here, _finally, Dean found him, and when the body heat moves away Dean gasps, eyes flashing open even though there's nothing to see, and he tears off his shirt, making his body colder, hoping his Angel will have pity on him and make him warm again.

Like he'd hoped for, the Angel returns, this time to his front, and Dean would be able to see him if it weren't for this damned darkness. Dean's fingers find the smooth cheek and the stubble-rough jaw, trace the lines around eyes he knows are bright and brilliant as a morning star, icy and blue and capable of bringing him to his knees with just a look.

"Be sure, Dean," he says in a low, pleading voice, a hand mirroring Dean's on the other man's cheek, "for from this you can't go back."

Dean's eyes fall closed, leaning into the gentle touch and the warm, hard body, and he leans down, and his Angel meets him in something they've only shared once, twice, too few times to satisfy. It's ash and fire of their burning normalcy, of Dean's other life, the wife that waits for him at home and the man he left behind to get her. But he can't without knowing, just once.

"Won't you touch me?" he asks, begs against lips that are dry from winter air and lack of water, and he places his Angel's other hand on his body, around his ribs and the fingers tighten, as though just waiting for permission. Dean gasps as he's moved, away from the frigid air of the mouth of the cave, laid down on stone worn smooth and he shivers, cold and trembling, a sacrifice for his Angel. "Please, just touch me."

"I will, Dean, be still for me, alright?" A soft flutter of a laugh and the Angel's lips meet Dean's again, a lithe body falling between spread legs, and Dean's thighs trap his Angel in, lock him in place, his hands desperate and feral in the other man's thick night-black hair.

_I felt no longer scared. _  
><strong>I felt no longer shy.<strong>  
><em><strong>At last our feelings bared<br>beneath a moonless sky.**_

Dean gasps when his Angel's hands move to the rest of his clothes, and it feels like they just melt away. His Angel's touches are cold fire, he knows he will have brands on his skin that he will have to explain, and shards of stone dig into his back as he moves, tries to help, can't. His body is ahead of his mind and all he can do is gasp and cry out brokenly towards the sky as Castiel's mouth descends over his hard flesh, taking him in as deep as he can go, wet, curling heat, a nirvana that Dean's never known, his young body virginal and crumbling in the face of this onslaught.

_And blind in the dark,  
>as soul gazed into soul;<em>

He can't see a damned thing but when he looks down, he knows his Angel's bright sky-blue eyes are locked on him, and a hand drags up, rests over his heart, curls into a fist above the pounding, erratic organ and Dean whimpers, his head falling back, his body arching, pleasure unlike he's ever known flaring through his body, and he clutches at that hand, lets their fingers entwine and clench, and the pleasure and release is so intense, it's painful. He screams his Angel's name, unable to do anything else.

_I looked into your heart  
>and saw you pure and whole.<em>

**Cloaked under the night  
>with nothing to suppress,<strong>

The Angel's lips meet Dean's again, tasting of bitter salt and loving sweetness and Dean relaxes, safe in his Angel's arms, unafraid, no regrets, as long, slender fingers pierce his body, open him wide like the Angel has done so many times in other ways, released him and given him flight and Dean spreads his legs a little more, too boneless to do more than kiss, but _that, _that he throws himself into, learning Castiel's mouth, their breaths misting along each other's skin because the night is _so _cold. His fingers card through blessedly soft hair that he remembers petting with fondness, remembers thinking about touching it just like this, remembers loving this man for so long before the _wrongness _got in the way. He's not allowed to love an Angel but that doesn't seem to matter, here, in the night, too dark to even see his beloved's face.

**a woman and a man  
>no more and yet no less.<strong>

There's a flame in his Angel's kiss that speaks of 'Goodbye', that knows what this is and doesn't fight, but his words do; he whispers them into the skin of Dean's jaw as his fingers push deeper, reawakening Dean's body, making him hiss and arch and clutch at the Angel as though desperately searching for something to ground him and hold him together when he feels like he's shattering apart.

"What about this is wrong? The Angel or the man?" he whispers the words with hatred and malice for the society that condemns them for it, the ones on Earth that would ridicule and the ones in Heaven that would judge. "Do you think that_she _could claim you like I can?" Dean tries to choke out his words but his Angel won't let him – silences him with his mouth or a well placed stroke along his insides, the burn getting too much, too full and yet not full enough.

**And I kissed you.**  
><em>And caressed you.<em>  
><em><strong>And the world around us fell away,<br>we said things in the dark,  
>we never dared to say.<strong>_

"Stay with me," Dean demands, when the Angel pulls his fingers out and shifts to move closer, to bring them together in a permanent, irrevocable way.

"Of course."

**And I caught you.**  
><em>And I kissed you.<em>

So much sensation.

**And I took you.**  
><em>And caressed you.<em>

Pressure, heat.

_**With a need too urgent to deny.  
>And nothing mattered then<br>except for you and I.**_

Dean's body opens graciously for his Angel, his beautiful, fallen, dark Angel that took him away and taught him, that seduced him and lured him into the nighttime, that showed him things he could never have imagined, and let that same Angel close to his body, inside of him deeper than anyone else can, has or ever will get. Dean gasps, shakes, legs trembling around his Angel's waist when the creature pushes in, forehead resting against panting mouth, mouth against neck, claiming and breaking them both apart, his hands and the wings Dean swear he can feel holding them both together. Dean's lost everything and is about to give up one more, but it's how it should be. His Angel cannot stay around forever and he's being called elsewhere, and Dean's got a new life waiting for him. But he can't bring himself to stop, not when his Angel seizes him almost roughly, kissing his lips red and swollen, pushing into his body with bruising force and eliciting cries that Heaven and Hell both will hear, wings caressing Dean with silken, incorporeal feathers and eyes burning yet another brand, his borrowed body flaring from the inside, alight, burning white, and when he finishes, he slaps a hand over Dean's eyes, commands that they close, and for a brief instant, the night is not dark, but Dean still doesn't see.

_**Again and then again,  
>beneath a moonless sky.<strong>_

He won't let his Angel go. "Again," he whispers, pulling the other man close, wrapping his legs and his arms around him. "Again. Again. More._ Please_." And they don't have the will or the heart to deny each other, the sun can wait and while it's still dark, while they still can't see each other, it's safe. It's sacred and _right._

Dawn's grey light is just making shadows of his Angel's face when Dean finally succumbs to sleep, exhausted and sated and wanted. He pulls his Angel close, lets arms wrap around him, can't bear to let them go, and his Angel kisses his bloody knuckles and sings to him as he falls asleep.

**And when it was done,  
>before the sun could rise<br>ashamed of what I was  
>afraid to see your eyes.<br>I stood while you slept  
>and whispered a goodbye.<br>And slipped into the dark  
>beneath a moonless sky.<strong>

His eyes are green. The Angel knows this because he's stared into them for many, many nights in his dreams. When he first saw Dean's soul, first heard the cacophony of noise that was Dean's blade at work, torturing, turning, damning, he knew the man's eyes were green, and they were beautiful. They still are, but the Angel will not stay. Will not because he cannot. Because it is forbidden. He presses a kiss to Dean's forehead and rests his temple against Dean's, clenching his eyes shut to fight back his sorrow, and pets through Dean's hair once, and he breaks his promise, and takes flight, disappearing and leaving the cold to invade Dean once again.**  
><strong>

_And I loved you,  
>yes I loved you.<br>I'd have followed any where you led.  
>I woke to swear my love,<br>and found you gone instead._

Dean wakes up shivering and knows Castiel is gone. He sighs into the stone ground, swallowing because he knows this wasn't meant to last. He knows now…and the knowledge cannot be unlearned. He's empty, so empty, and he doesn't open his eyes for a long while after waking, because he can't bear to turn over and find the place where Castiel was laying to be empty. When he finally gets up the courage, he finds three black feathers left behind, torn out by his own hand in a crime of passion, and Dean swallows again and doesn't take them with him._  
><em>

**And I loved you**.  
><em>And I loved you.<em>  
><strong>And I left you.<strong>  
><em>Yes I loved you.<em>  
><strong>And I had to<br>both of us knew why.**  
><em>We both knew why.<em>  
><em><strong>And yet I won't regret<br>from now until I die.  
>The night I can't forget,<br>beneath a moonless sky.**_

**"And now?"** He has the nerve to show up in Dean's house and ask for help, a year later, like nothing happened, like nothing _could _happen. Like he didn't brand Dean's skin but take away his mark, like he didn't leave a stamp on Dean's soul that, when he dies, will make him Castiel's. Dean almost hates him, but he could never hate him, and if there's darkness in his Angel's eyes that is new and sad and full of unfulfilled promises, he ignores them.

_"How could you talk of now for us? There is no now."_


	30. A Change Of Pace

**Title:** A Change of Pace  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>PairingsCharacters: **Dean/Castiel, mentions Dean/OMC  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> AU.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> one-night-stands, cheating (Dean is in a relationship)  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~3,000  
><strong>Summary:<strong> It's been too long for Dean; he's lonely, horny, and he needs a drink. Thanks to the new bar down the street, he can fix all of those things tonight.  
><strong> Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Also this has Dean cheating with Castiel, and so it's sort of morally grey there. Um. Yeah but I'm pretending you read for the plot here.

* * *

><p>It had been far, far too long.<p>

Business trips, family vacations, you name it, and Dean had heard it come out of his no-show of a boyfriend's stupid mouth. Fine. Fuck him, anyway, as far as Dean was concerned he could go around driving in his stupid Prius hitting mailboxes all fucking night. Dean was going to go out and get some.

Thanks to the new bar down the street, he didn't think he would have too much trouble with that.

That was how he found himself slammed face first against the back side of the front door to his and his boyfriend's apartment, rough fingers at the back of his neck keeping him still while another, with long slender fingers that had Dean shaking with their deft, knowing touch, scratched down his chest through his t-shirt, knew they would leave big red marks down his chest, and groped him through his jeans, shameless and greedy like they owned the fucking property between his legs and damn it all if Dean was going to complain about that.

Dean wasn't usually the one for bottoming, especially on a first night when the guys he tended to pick up wouldn't know what to do with a guy's ass if they were given a fucking PowerPoint presentation, or didn't know how to make it last and tended to shoot off within six seconds on entry, but God damn it he'd known from the first words from this guy that he was going to get _reamed_. Torn apart and it's making his knees fucking _quiver_ and he's pretty sure he'd be on the damn things if there still wasn't a hand at the back of his neck keeping him upright.

His hands are braced against the doorframe, nails digging in hard enough to splinter the cheap piece of wood, and he may have heard a half-muffled snarl to keep them there, he's not sure, but he can't move them if his life depended on it, he feels like he's about to burst into flames.

The guy wasn't as tall as him, or as built, but he had this look in his eyes that meant he was either a serial killer or the best thing to happen to Dean's dick since he discovered what it was for, and Dean's hard, so fucking hard, about to rip out of his damn jeans and it just feels tighter and hotter under his skin for some reason – the guy's breathing hard behind him, and finally the hand at the back of his neck moves and there are rough fingers shoving at his clothes and a voice growling at him to strip and Goddamn it yeah, yeah he'll get right on that as soon as he catches up.

Then he's being turned around, slammed back against the door and he can look at the guy, but he's silhouetted from the street lights outside because they didn't quite make it to the lights in the apartment and all he can see is that shock of messy dark hair and the flash of bright blue eyes. Then there's a mouth on his, and the kiss is rough, teeth biting into his lower lip to force his mouth open, a tongue sliding into his mouth like his hands are digging under his clothes – like it fucking owns the place and it's making Dean moan, his legs spreading shamelessly because _yes_, fuck yes, Dean's boyfriend's lilly-white-ass-china-doll style of sex is _not_ this guy's take-no-prisoners _fucking_ and his dick is practically jumping for joy at that.

"Bed," he manages to grit out, between fisting his hands in that shock of hair, which is almost _silky_ under his touch and it makes the guy shudder – his voice, his hands, he's not sure but he likes it. "That way. Need to -."

The guy growls his assent, nails digging into the backs of Dean's thighs, and then they're both stumbling that way, Dean's barely able to walk with his jeans around his knees but he makes the fucking effort and they make it, Dean landing on top of the guy and managing to bracket the guy's hips with his thighs, enough that he can shuck off his jeans and underwear and the guy's hands are working at his own clothes now, bearing white skin underneath and a tan-line on his arms and neck and Dean kind of wants to lick it.

He's not as built as Dean, not even close, but what he does have is pure muscle and Dean feels like melting into the guy, because his sharp hipbones are digging into the underside of Dean's thighs and he can feel the thick warmth of his cock between his legs, digging into his ass and he wants so badly he can hardly see.

"Come here," the guy growls, one hand reaching up and grabbing onto the back of Dean's head, fingers knotting in his hair and pulling him down before Dean can even think to obey, and they're kissing again, Dean's hands running down the guy's heaving ribcage, mapping the dents of rib and muscle between, and he lifts up so the guy's cock can fall under his own and takes them both, fingers wrapping tight around the both of them with only their sweat to slick the way, but it's so tight and _hot_ with him in hand too that Dean lets out an almost pathetic sound of want into the kiss, his other hand flying out and locking to brace himself next to the guy's head.

"Fuck," he snarls, rough growl against Dean's mouth, teeth back with a vengeance now and Dean's mouth is going to be fucking _tingling_ in the morning and he can't wait – he tilts his head and licks deeper, wants to feel this kiss down to his _toes_ because it's sending fucking shivers down his spine. "Want to -. _Fucking -."_

And then the world is spinning and Dean's on his back on the bed, those fucking blue eyes spearing him down and the guy's falling between his legs and he fits so Goddamn perfectly that if this wasn't just a hookup Dean might wax poetic about it or give it more than a second thought. Instead he just wraps his legs tight around and pulls him in, rocking his hips up to meet the drive of the guy's hips down, and then the guy isn't kissing him anymore, he's fucking _nosing_ Dean's head to one side, snarling at him like a Goddamn animal when he doesn't quite get it and resists, and then those fucking _teeth _are at his neck, jaws open wide and sinking down and Dean feels his entire body _quiver_ – he needs to get fucked _now_ or he's going to fucking lose it.

"Come _on_," he bites out, shivering when the guy's hand finds his thigh, fingers curling into the meat of his ass, lifting him just a little for a better angle, more friction when he grinds down. "Fuckin' _do it_. Come on!"

"Impatient," the guy whispers, pressing the word into the sweat lining Dean's collarbone, licking it up and Dean can feel the teeth in his smile, and it makes him shiver again, one hand clenching tight in the guy's hair. "So needy. I like that."

Dean would blush if he didn't know he wasn't ever going to see this guy ever again. So he merely makes a soft, frustrated sound, and pulls at the guy's hair pointedly, his other hand reaching for his bedside table, into the drawer to pull out some lube and a condom and toss it next to the guy's hand on his ass.

The guy laughs, and it sounds like gravel in his throat, but Dean closes his eyes and hears the tell-tale sound of the wrapper being opened, and the small pop of the lube bottle too, and he lets himself relax; soon, yes.

What he does _not_ expect – what makes him clench up tight and fist his hands in that fucking too-soft hair and cry out, back arching – is the wet suction of a hot mouth around his cock as the first finger slides in, easy as anything. It's been a fucking long time, Dean knows he's not that loose, but the guy just seems to quirk that finger like a hot knife through butter, forcing Dean to part for him, and that _mouth_. Dean's eyes flare open and he lifts his head, finding those blue eyes staring right back at him, the bastard somehow managing to _smirk_ with the girth of Dean's cock stretching his mouth wide, and as he watches, eyes locked, the guy tilts his head and just _goes_ – lets Dean's cock sink right down to the root in his mouth and if Dean thought he was shaking before that's _nothing_ to the tremors racking his body now. God-fucking-damn-it, he feels as though he's going to burst into flames all over again, the guy's tongue curling, hot and thick around the base of him and dragging up, lips sealed tight and Dean can't even pay attention to the finger stretching him out with that mouth doing things Dean's pretty sure you'd have to pay for anywhere else.

"Fuck," he hisses, fingers flexing in the guy's hair as he cocks an eyebrow and descends again. "_Fuck_. Stop. I -." Then he starts fucking _humming_, and Dean's gone; he can't hold back any more, and the only warning he can give is a strangled-sounding moan before his orgasm renders him mute, makes his entire body curl up and tense like a blow's knocked the wind out of him.

By the time he comes back to himself, he feels like he's run a fucking marathon, sprinting. With no food or water for it, but blue-eyes doesn't let him have a second, no – his fingers are still going, forceful now, rougher and Dean thinks maybe he's up to three now, it's hard to tell with the post-orgasmic haze making his fucking _skin _tingle.

Then there's a hand at his jaw, forcing his mouth open and the guy is leaning over him, smirking, tight-lipped, his eyes practically glowing, and Dean watches as he tilts his head, leans close for another kiss, and fuck yeah Dean can get behind that, but instead of the feeling of lips, and those teeth, he tastes salt, and opens his eyes to find that the guy's let his own come fall back into his mouth.

It's just so fucking dirty and hot at the same time; Dean doesn't quite know what to do with himself. He just had his own come spit back at him and all he can think of is the thrum of that mouth around his cock. He surges up, claiming that mouth, can taste more of his come inside it, and licks in, fingers still in the guy's hair, clenching tight and holding him close. He can feel his cock twitching, trying to rise again because the arousal hasn't gone down a wink and his entire body feels like it's being stabbed with pleasure, but Goddamn it he's not going to stop until they're both sweaty and sated and sore.

"Come on," he murmurs, his voice coming out hoarse and throaty like _he's_ the one who just had a cock all the way down his throat. "Fuck me. Wanna feel it."

That raised eyebrow again, and then the guy is smirking wide and Dean can only obey the press of his hands again, as he's rolled onto his stomach, one hand shoving at his shoulders to keep them down, and instinctively Dean pushes back, gets his knees under him to lift up, but he stops when the guy snarls and lands a hard smack to the inside of his thigh, making him yelp and go still.

"Keep your fucking hips down," the guys says, and Dean shivers again, obeying slowly, spreading his legs out and pressing himself as flat to the bed as he can. This way, he can't get a hand under himself, and he knows he won't be able to fuck back once the guy gets going. He shivers at the idea of just getting used, being a willing, warm hole to fuck into and put away dirty, and yeah, yeah his cock's definitely getting on board with that. "That's it, that's perfect, sweetheart."

_Sweetheart. _Fuck. That word, in that voice, will probably star in Dean's jerk-off fantasies for the rest of his fucking life.

Then there's the feeling of pressure at his hole, and he braces himself. He might not even be stretched enough, certainly doesn't feel like it when the guy keeps pushing forward, and yeah, Dean likes that – likes that he finally got a guy who doesn't treat him like he's made of Goddamn china and doesn't have to look him in the eye during sex and swears at him and manhandles him and just, Goddamn it, _yes_. Pity it's just a hook-up but Dean will probably remember this night 'til the day he dies.

He's just forcing Dean's body to part for him, and he's _going_ – feels like forever until Dean feels the crisp hairs at the base of his cock pressing against his ass, until the guy's fingers flex in his hips and he presses down so that Dean really can't move, and he can feel the warm puff of breath against his back of the guy's heavy breathing and shivers at the scrape of bared teeth against his spine. Fuck. Yes. This right here is fucking golden.

Then the guy's pulling back, fucking forward again like he's a girl that still a little too dry, stretching him out, carving some room for him, and yeah, yeah that's fucking golden too, until Dean feels himself relax a little bit and then it's like something just _snaps_.

The guy fucks like a fucking machine, all that pure muscle put to the best Goddamn use _ever_ as he fucks in, pulls out and back in like he has a personal vendetta against Dean's ass, but fuck it's hot, hearing his rough growls, effort straining his voice, and then he tilts his head and bites again, sharp point of pain making Dean's body tighten enough that the guy stills, stuttering, growling against the back of Dean's neck.

He manages to, somehow, fuck Dean through another orgasm, rough-drag of lube-slick flesh so damn good after so long that Dean's body is practically _singing_ for the guy, and he's ripping all these noises out of Dean that he's never made before, knows he's never made, all rough pants and mewls and whines and soft, begging _'harder, faster, come on'_s. When he finally stills, gasping roughly as he fills up the condom, Dean's body is fairly _thrumming_ with pleasure, and he knows he's bruised on his hips and the back of his neck and probably has a hickey from before, but he's too fucked-out to care, and when the guy pulls out Dean can't even be bothered to tell him if he's welcome to stay or not – he doesn't mind. The guy can let himself out or sleep here, it's late, Dean's too tired to care and he's pretty cordial to one-night-stands in the morning. And it's not like he's expecting anyone.

He falls asleep to the sound of the shower running.

* * *

><p>His alarm wakes him at eight in the morning (which, why, it's a fucking Saturday, go fuck yourself time), and he hears shuffling and smells fresh coffee. He slams on the damn machine until it stops beeping at him, and rolls over, blinking awake from the mess of the sheets to see a glass of water with two painkillers sitting next to it, and a green post-it note stuck to the side. He takes it;<p>

_Your boyfriend showed up this morning. I have a feeling you might be single. If you want to change that, you know where to find me. _There's a phone number too, and the name _Cas_ messily scrawled across the bottom.

"Huh," he says, looking at the note. So the guy's name is Cas. You'd think he'd remember something like that. And wow, that is a first, even in Dean's sluttier days; he usually made sure to at least know the guy's name.

Dean's eyes widen when it sinks it what exactly the note says. Fuck. If Castiel had answered the door… "Fuck," he says, running a hand through his hair and sighing tiredly. Though it's not like it hasn't been maybe six months since he's seen the guy, let alone talk to him. Figures he'd would show up _the night after_ Dean got bored of waiting around for him and not, you know, the night he could have fixed it. Whatever. Dean has absolutely zero regrets about last night – and if the way his body still feels mildly tingly all over, his body agrees with him. He'll call – at least break up for real. He at least deserves that.

Dean sighs, staring up at his ceiling as he thinks about the note; _if you what to change that._ He's never done this sort of thing before – hook-ups don't turn into relationships, especially when it's a hook-up you cheated with. And he knows next to nothing about the guy, didn't even know his name until this morning.

But.

Maybe a change of pace could be good for him.

What's the harm in trying?


	31. All To Ourselves

**Title:** All To Ourselves  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>PairingsCharacters: **Castiel/Meg, Dean/Castiel/ Meg  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> None. It's a highschool AU.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> heterosexuality, threesome, some mildly kinky stuff.  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~4100  
><strong>Summary: <strong>Cas is one-hundred-ten percent in love with his girlfriend. She's perfect for him and he's probably gonna marry her someday. But there's this new kid in town, and Cas can't stop thinking about him. Luckily, neither can Meg.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. I don't know okay I wanted het porn so here you go. MY BRAIN IS ZOIDBERG RIGHT NOW WOOP WHOOP WOOP WHOOP WOOOOOOOOOOP.

* * *

><p>Cas loves his little wildcat.<p>

She's got everything he could ever want. She's a bitch, witty to the point of just being cruel with it, taunts those she doesn't like (who happen to fall in line with who Castiel doesn't happen to like either), but loyal as a dog to those she finds worthy of her attention. She's dirty, kinky as fuck and Cas likes that about her – utterly shameless and a sex drive to give his a run for its money (at _least_ four times a day. At _least_. And they're working their way through every room in the school).

And he knows her pretty well by now. Knows just when she is in the mood that any attempt by him to interact with her will unhinge her jaw and have him swallowed whole and when just the right touch can get her purring like a kitten. He's the only guy she lets sleep over at her parents' house.

He's probably gonna marry her someday.

* * *

><p>His name is Dean Winchester. Dean motherfucking cock-and-swagger blowjob-lips jewel-eyes leather-jacketed Winchester. Cas can't get him out of his head. Fucking new kid with a fucking hero complex for his little brother. Cas had seen him defend the kid against the bullies, threaten to hurt any and everyone who went after the kid – Sam? Maybe Sam.<p>

Point was Cas might have a little thing for the idiot macho twink trying to be a man. He's not even looked at another guy or girl since he and his girl started seeing each other naked. He loves Meg Masters, but God damn it that fucking boy and his stupid car that looks like a transformer had sex with a jaguar…fuck: Cas would do horrible things to that boy in the back of his car.

* * *

><p>"Why don't you just fuck him?"<p>

They're in the second grade classroom after school – Mrs Foley is on maternity leave and even though the substitute is meant to stay behind in case the parents have any questions or concerns she's barely older than Cas and Meg are and still trying to have a social life and her job at the same time so she always cuts out early. They're on the mat that looks like a hopscotch kids use to try and learn math and the thick, dotted rubber chafes against Cas' palms – he's glad they were in too much hurry for Meg to get her shirt off. Don't want his wildcat bitching at him for roughing her up too much.

"We can both do it," she hisses out, nails raking sharp and hot down his back as he growls, rutting forward until he's as deep as he can get into her – she's clenching down on him deliberately, feels like his cock is fucking suffocating in her, and she's sloppy wet, sore so they'd used extra lube to get him in. "Tie him down and you can fuck him while I ride that pretty face."

_"Fuck_." Damn this girl. Definitely gonna marry her. He tilts his head, bares his teeth against her shoulder under her shirt – she'll let him bite through the material if he has to. They're squeaking along the rubber mat and leaving one hell of a wet spot and the room stinks of sex and he just can't care – the image of that boy, forced down on his back and tied to a bed or the desks of the classroom with Meg shoving her shaved pussy down onto his face, making his swollen lips shiny and slick with her while Cas sees what pretty noises that mouth can make – has him stuttering inside of her, needing to stop before he shoots off without warning.

One thing he does know is that if he comes before she does he'll have a lot of making up to do for it.

"Come on, baby," she bites out, finding the sensitive spot at the base of his spine and clawing hard, arching her hips up to get him deeper, and he breathes in the scent coming off her hair and tries to hold on. His hands find her hips and tilt her for a better angle, rutting upward to try and get her off. "I know you want a piece of that pretty, tight ass."

"I've had your ass before," he argues, swallowing back the throb of desire – wonders if Dean's ever even taken a cock before. He seems to like the ladies well enough; maybe he's not even gay. That's okay. Won't be the first pussy-chaser Cas has turned. But the idea of seeing Dean strung out, flushed and panting and coming from his cock alone is a hard one to get out of his head. "Too much prep, too much effort. I like just being able to sink into you, baby."

He starts thrusting again just to emphasize, shoves back onto his knees and lifts her legs, putting them together and over one of his shoulders. It tightens her up and lets him thrust at just the right angle inside of her, has her purring on the end of his dick before he can say 'You like that?'. Also means she can't claw at him anymore – gives him a better chance of lasting.

She arches her back, mouth tightening in a way that means she's close, eyes clenched tightly shut – her breathing is getting quiet and shaky like he knows it does right before she comes, thighs tense and tight, toes curling, mouth open. It's going to be a big one.

He smirks, licks at his thumb and forefinger, and reaches down to pinch and rub her clit. Rough, just how she likes it – if he doesn't leave bruises he's in almost as much trouble as when he comes first. His other hand digs in tight to her thigh when he feels her tensing up, first dregs of orgasm hitting her hard, and he ruts in, fucks her through it, nails scratching down her skin. Might break it. Might leave a lot of marks today just to see her walk funny.

She cries out his name – God he loves hearing it too – head tossing to one side, hair falling out of its braid and leaving fly-aways against the ugly red rubber mat, and he lets her legs drop, fucks in between her thighs 'cause he likes how they tense up around him, how her ankles hook and keep him close and he knots a hand in her hair and kisses her, hard, tongue sliding in and curling around her as he fucks her through it.

He doesn't have a lot of time – she gets tired after the big ones and less likely to purr for him when he keeps going. But that doesn't matter. He knows others ways to get her to arch and mewl for him.

It's a delicate business, handling Meg after sex, but he's gotten good at it. He pulls out roughly, enough to make her hiss and lift her head, eyes flashing to demand what the actual fuck he thinks he's doing, but he's a step ahead, palms flattening on her thighs and dipping his head down to lick at her. Fuck, yeah, there she goes, head dropping back, breath escaping in a soft whoosh of air. Her fingers curl into his hair, loose at first, knows they'll tighten when he hits the right spot.

His hands are there to spread her open, give his tongue enough room that he can lick inside, pointed, curling, until he feels her shiver, warm thighs bracketing his head. Fuck, he loves licking her out, knows he can probably make her come again with just his tongue and his finger rubbing steady circles against her clit, make her sloppy-wet with his spit until he can fuck back in again and come inside her. Best decision they ever made, going on the pill.

Maybe Dean will like licking her out too – she's responsive enough, vocal when she wants to be, demanding when she is, as Cas affectionately calls it, 'in heat' – that one week a month right in the middle of her now-pill-stopped periods where that four times a day will leap up to maybe six or seven if Cas can get it up enough.

She can get toppy as fuck at that time of the month and Cas can't fucking wait. He moans at the thought, eyes closing, head tilting so he can lick deeper into her, and she's shaking again, thighs tightening around his head so he can't hear a damn thing but he can feel her soft moans under the hand pressed against her stomach, now, keeping her hips down as he curls his tongue into her – wants to feel her come again, and again, could do this forever if they had the time and if his cock wasn't aching to get back inside of her, feel the greedy warm clench of her body.

He leans back again just as he feels her start to tighten, new slick leaking out for him to taste, and slants his mouth across hers, forces her to taste herself in his mouth as he grips her ass, tilts her hips for the perfect slide in and fucks her through her second orgasm – she's tight, fuck, he has no idea how she does that with how often they go at it, but it's too much for him, especially when he can hear her purring against his bared throat and then her teeth are out and she's biting, sucking yet another hickey onto his sun-darkened skin for all to see.

"Fuck, Meg, baby – _fuck_." He can't say another fucking word, his orgasm hitting him like a punch to the gut as he bends over her, grinds her hips as close to his as he can get, and comes, feels another kind of wet adding to her and it's so _dirty,_ knows it'll just leak back out of her and he can't wait to see it stain her underwear when he pulls them off to go again. His nails dig into the soft flesh of her ass, just to hear her hiss and bite at him again, this time on the jaw, teeth against bone and it hurts, he knows it'll bruise – the pain combines with the sensation of his orgasm and makes him jerk on top of her, flinch and breathe hard through his nose against her hair.

He can feel her laugh when he finally softens, pulling out gently this time so he doesn't hurt her, and crawls back just a little so his weight over her body doesn't obstruct her breathing, until he's braced on his elbows over her stomach and his head rests against her breasts. Her fingers card through his hair, just a little scratch of nail and yeah, that feels nice. "I think you like the idea, baby," she murmurs after a moment, sounding just as fucked-out and sleepy as he feels, and he lifts his head, blinks. "Both of us. Dean Winchester. Wanna ruin someone today?"

And she's smirking, this dangerous light in her eyes like when she shoved Cas down onto his back for the first time and rode him until he was begging her to let him come, and yeah, he's definitely gonna marry this girl.

* * *

><p>His name is Castiel Novak, and Dean has no idea what to make of him.<p>

He's not very big, or buff – doesn't hang out with the jock crowd, almost looks like the bookish kind of kid one would see being slammed against the lockers or dumped into trash cans, but no, students part around him and what Dean assumes can only be his girlfriend like the red sea. They walk around the school like they own it and as long as no one gets pissy anyone can do whatever the hell they want. They're not arrogant, not from what Dean's seen or heard.

He's got this quiet kind of power, and the most intense pair of blue eyes Dean thinks he's ever seen. He walks down the halls, arm slung over the shoulders of one Meg Masters, their fingers linked up as she lifts her hand to hold his, and people just go running if they're doing something shitty, even the dicks who'd threatened to knock Sam around and bully him. Without a word. They're not ignored, but they're not challenged either.

Dean is intrigued.

It starts in the corridors – Dean's getting books out for his next lesson and contemplating skipping because it's fucking algebra and who has time for numbers trying to be letters or whatever, and the pair are a little way down, talking to other people – females, seniors, he presumes some of Meg's friends or whatever because Castiel doesn't seem to be paying much attention, his eyes wandering until they, coincidentally, lock with Dean's, who might have happened to be staring.

And then he _had smirked, _like he knew exactly what Dean was thinking. Like he could just take one look at Dean and know everything about him. He didn't blink – just watched, eyes darting over every part of Dean's face and Dean had been backing off before he'd even thought about it.

Defending Sam was a lot easier than defending himself.

Flustered, on edge, maybe Dean had thought about those blue eyes that night in the shower. And his mouth too – chapped lips, rough drag of teeth down his chest, long-fingered hands splaying wide. Dark hair knotted between his fingers and the hiss when he pulled too tightly. Yeah, maybe he'd thought about that a lot.

It happened again in English class – they shared it. One class where it was just Castiel without his girlfriend. He was on edge, sharp, sitting close to Dean at the back of the classroom and barely paying attention to the class, if the constant drumming of his pencil against the desk and the way he kept watching Dean was any indication. Dean felt like a cornered animal being baited and he didn't know what to do.

He doesn't know what changed between one day and the next, when Castiel and Meg approach him directly, stinking of sex, Castiel with a large fresh hickey on his neck and both of them looking flushed and bright-eyed. Wouldn't take a genius to figure out what they'd just been doing.

"Hello, Dean," Cas says by way of greeting, like they've already been introduced beforehand, and Dean swallows, eyes flicking between the two of them. They look like wolves and he feels a little bit like a cornered animal.

Castiel's head tilts to one side, then, this look in his eyes like he just wants to eat Dean alive as his smile widens, and then there are two sets of fingers hooking into the pockets of his leather jacket and Dean's being pulled along between them. He resists, at first, shoulders tensed and turned down and fingers curling into fists, ready to defend himself, when he feels the first rasp of sharp stubble against his neck and a warm voice whispering into his ear;

"Relax." Dean shivers, eyelids fluttering – that voice. Only ever heard Cas talk in class and he's never sounded so Goddamn _dark_, like rich chocolate spiked with rum and another hand is dragging down his arm, another digging under his shirt and scratching up his back and he's not sure who's touching him where but the hairs on the back of his neck are standing up and his legs feel weak. "We just wanna show you a good time."

"You up for it, Winchester?" Meg's voice, then, less smooth, growly like the purr of a jungle cat and Dean shivers again, reopens his eyes to find her staring up at him, all bitten lower lip and wide pupils so dark they almost eclipse her eye and Dean can see his reflection in them. Nails scratch over his scalp and he feels like he might just collapse right here in the hallway. "We'll give you the ride of your life. Promise."

Then Cas laughs, teeth bared against the back of Dean's neck, biting down, and all he can do is nod, because hell yeah, he can get behind a wild ride.

* * *

><p>So. Goddamn. Easy.<p>

Dean Winchester might not bite as hard as he barks, but he puts up an interesting resistance. Hesitating every step of the way like a Goddamn virgin until Cas had finally bitten the back of his neck, low snarl against his skin to man the fuck up before they get bored of him.

Boy likes taking orders. Can rise to the occasion like a fucking champ, too, if the way Meg's biting back her loud moans are anything to go by. Dean had just fucking went for her, maybe sensing her receptiveness over Castiel's, and damn, Cas could watch Dean make out with Meg all fucking day – she's in her toppy week, all hard grabs and low hisses and sharp teeth sinking into Dean's lower lip, and Dean just ducks his shoulders and crowds close to her, hands splaying across the backs of her thighs and lifting her up onto a desk so he can stand between her legs, and yeah, yeah that's perfect because Cas can just slide in behind him, find the spurs of his hipbones to grab onto and Dean just rolls his hips back onto Castiel's hardening cock and damn it, good boy, earns him another hard bite to the back of his neck.

And Dean lets out this little sound against Meg's mouth when he does that, like a low whine bitten back behind his teeth, and Cas snarls, grabs harder, _bites_ harder just to hear him do that again, until his shoulders tense up from pain under his clothes and his entire spine bows to get away.

His nails are digging into the edges of the desk as he leans forward, lets Meg's legs wrap around the both of them to keep them in close, and Cas uses the opportunity to drag his hands under Dean's clothes and start pulling them off. The jacket goes first, down off his shoulders and arms and Cas tosses it to one side, barely sparing a second before he's pulling the shirt up, Meg helping, Dean just sandwiched between them and submitting to their greedy touch, nails dragging and biting down on freckled skin and Meg finds her favorite spot, right where back meets neck and it's a fine line between pain and pleasure, and her nails dig in, Cas can see them, white lines in his neck and Dean hisses, ducks his head to kiss along her jaw and their eyes meet over his shoulder.

Meg is smirking wide and Cas can't help himself – he leans forward, kisses her hard and deep, bites her lower lip just to hear her gasp. "I fucking love you," he half-growls, half-whispers, just to see her smile wider before he pulls back enough to let Dean have some room and, as he knew she would, watches Meg yank down hard enough to send Dean to his knees between her spread legs.

To his credit, the boy doesn't even hesitate, and thank God Meg is wearing a skirt today because all it takes is a shift for his fingers to drag her panties to one side, hoist her skirt up to her hips, and go to town.

And go to town he does – Castiel can feel his enthusiasm from here, can see the tremble in the tendon connecting Meg's thighs to her hips as she clenches up, resting her legs on Dean's shoulders, winding her fingers into his too-short hair.

"Oh," she gasps out, impressed with whatever Dean is doing, rutting her hips forward into his face. It's wet, sounds fucking filthy, Cas can imagine his tongue flattening over her entrance, tasting the salt-and-clean flavor of her, probably still stinks of Castiel's come as well and he's alright with that. So is Dean if his soft moan is any indication. "Oh, _fuck_."

"He good, baby?" Cas asks, like this is a present for her as much as him, and she whimpers softly, for effect he's sure, as Dean's jewel-colored eyes flash upwards to see her face. His fingers are digging into her thighs, not touching, not yet, and that's nice – "Tease her, Dean, she likes it when you tease."

Meg's eyes flash – wrong, so wrong, he knows it and he laughs to himself for knowing it – but Dean obeys, sucks dirty-wet around her clit hard enough to make her bite back a scream, her thighs shaking. Fuck, that's a nice sight. Castiel steps closer, takes a hold of her hair in his fist and tugs her into a kiss, fucks her mouth with his tongue and he's standing behind Dean, knows the boy can feel him, his hard-on just pressing into the back of Dean's head when he pulls back, but he doesn't stop; testing the water, Cas wants to see if Dean will bolt at the feeling of a cock.

Not in the slightest. _Yes._

Meg's already close, Cas can tell by the shake in her breathing and the way her moans are getting a little more high-pitched, a little more frantic like she's trying to run, to get away. She's going to come and soon. "Use your fingers," he whispers, crouching down behind Dean, whispering in his ear just to see him shiver. From here, he can watch as Dean obeys, one finger sliding into her, slick and easy like she's anything but tight on the inside. Cas knows, though, knows exactly how tight her pussy clenches when she's coming. "Another. Fuck her like you mean it, Dean," he growls, and Dean bites his lip, cheeks flushing a little from heat, he's fucking beautiful, licking his slick mouth as he slides another finger in, goes back to tonguing at her swollen clit until Meg's cries are loud and uninhibited, until her legs clench tight around Dean's head and her nails dig in sharply. "There we go, baby, that's it, so good for me," Cas whispers, smiling, and he's not quite sure which of them he's talking to at this point, but it doesn't matter with Meg moaning like she's getting paid and Dean's mouth has gone back to lapping at her, her clit too sensitive now to withstand it, and he's probably tasting all of her slick now, new and dripping from her orgasm.

Castiel growls and reaches forward, grabbing Dean's shoulders and yanking him back, turning him around in one movement so he's on his ass on the floor, and it's easy then to straddle him and claim his mouth, his hands replacing where Meg's were on the boy's head. Dean melts into him, all soft lips and giving mouth and he tilts his head back so nicely when Castiel presses a hand to his throat, tilts him to the better angle, and rolls his hips just to feel Dean gasp into his mouth.

He pulls back, just for a second, dark blue eyes taking in every detail of the boy's face – his flushed cheeks, wild eyes, swollen mouth and ruffled hair. He looks _messy_, and it's one of the most gorgeous things Castiel has ever seen.

"So fuckin' _pretty,_" he growls, then dives in for another taste, licking his girlfriend's taste from Dean's mouth while the boy shivers and moans under him, hips rolling up in a demanding grind, erection pressing tight and hot to the underside of Castiel's thigh, and yeah, the boy's earned it, earned the right to grab Castiel like he owns him and rut against him until he comes in his pants like he's thirteen years old.

Castiel kisses and bites down Dean's bare shoulder and neck while the boy comes down from his high, sucking a very dark mark onto his neck just too high for a shirt to cover, and when Dean blinks and his eyes focus, Cas makes sure their eyes are locked when he smiles, and stands.

"Thanks for the ride, baby," he says, voice dark and low – he's still horny as fuck and he can see Meg's fingers start to drift down between her own legs and he's aching to get inside of her, fuck her until she can't walk straight. "You can go."

Dean swallows, looking between them. He looks like a fucking mess. _We did that,_ Castiel thinks. Yes. "I wanna watch," he says instead of just quietly acquiescing. So he does speak. His tone is challenging, no hesitation from before now and damn it – Castiel wants to break him open, see what other kind of arrogant and impetuous secrets he might be hiding.

Castiel smirks wide and Meg laughs to herself. "Let's keep him," she coos, grinning.

Yes, Castiel thinks as he unbuckles his belt and unzips his fly, just far enough to pull his cock out and bury it inside her as Dean watches on, he's definitely gonna marry this girl.


	32. No Going Back Now

**Title: **No Going Back Now  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Pairing(s): <strong>Vampire!Dean/Leviathan!Castiel**  
>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~2,000**  
>Warnings:<strong> blood!kink, goo!kink, biting, non-con  
><strong>Summary:<strong> It has been too long since he's fed, too long since Castiel pulled Dean close to his body and raised his wrist to the vampire's mouth. Too long since Dean has felt sated.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Totally unbeta'd and there is absolutely no reason for this. So, yeah. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>It's hot. Throbbing. Black.<p>

His eyes feel like they're burning, searing him as the creature smiles. Black lines his mouth, a thin, dark line running from the corner of his grinning mouth, down his chin, disappearing into his clothes. It's thick, shining, like molasses. Smells pretty damn sweet, too.

He wants to taste.

The scent…he smells like rain, like water – fresh water. Not stagnant and bitter like humans when they come in from outside; fresh, enticing, as though touching him would be like touching the smooth, cool surface of ivory or steel. Of bone. His fingers itch to touch, curling in tight enough that he leaves marks in his palms, his jaw clenching, gums aching as he fights back his shark-like second set of teeth.

He wants to touch.

The creature's blue, blue eyes flash. His smirk widens and, silently, he lifts one hand, dipping his head. Black oozes from his fingertips, as though conjured from underneath his nails like dirt and grime, and from his hairline another thicker trail drips down, clouding one of his eyes, marking his pale face with darkness.

A low growl breaks the silence between them.

His fingers curl again, palm tipped upwards, bare, thin skin of his wrist exposed, seductive. The pale blue vein has a black twin throbbing underneath the surface of his skin and the second man licks his lips, green eyes darkening in bloodlust.

His second set of teeth slide forward and lock into place of their own accord.

Castiel smiles. "Come here, Dean," he murmurs, his voice holding no room for argument – a command, as one would give to a dog. An order from what was once a God.

Dean snarls, upper lip curling back, defiance written into the set of his shoulders, the arch of his neck as he tosses his head and takes a step back, the scent and sound of Castiel's blood rushing in his veins too seductive, too enticing. He wants to ignore it, knows he can't – it has been too long since he's fed, too long since Castiel pulled Dean close to his body and raised his wrist to the vampire's mouth. Too long since Dean has felt sated.

His throat feels dry, on fire. He is so thirsty.

His refusal angers the creature – Castiel's eyes go flat, his teeth bared and black welling up in small droplets around his teeth. "Come here, Dean," he growls again, curling his fingers forward. Something presses against Dean's shoulders and the vampire breathes in deep, shaking around his exhale. He feels like he can't see – everything's red.

"No," he grits out, just barely managing to keep himself back, from succumbing. Who knows what would happen with that black poison flowing through his veins, the overly-sweet smell of rotting fruit and honey in his mouth. Can't take that risk.

The Leviathan's growl fills the room – like a giant creature has just been woken from sleeping and the very walls shudder with its presence – the sound is low, rolling, feels like smog and Dean shivers, baring his own teeth in answer, shoulders tensing at the feeling of weight on them, of eyes, ice blue and tainted with black in the middle, sparking in challenge, in command.

And then suddenly there is cold stone against Dean's back, Castiel moving faster than even his supernatural senses can keep up with, the saddle of Castiel's hand pressing tight to his throat, cradling his larynx and pushing in, and up, cutting off the vampire's airway.

Dean chokes, known he doesn't technically need to breath, but fighting against being pinned in such an intimate way anyway – his fingers come up, curl around the long, tight line of Castiel's fingers, try and yank down, and Castiel snarls again – that rolling sound that Dean can feel in the thrum of the creature's pulse, pressed so fierce against his neck, and the grip shifts, moves to his jaw, hard enough that Dean winces as skin rubs against bone and his jaw feels like it's about to crack, to snap and bend to Castiel's will.

One of Castiel's eyes is no longer blue – black leaking from the center of his blown pupil and tainting the iris and the white beyond, slow and black like an oil spill – Dean notices when he forces his eyes open, baring his teeth in what is meant to be threat. But Castiel just smiles – wide, toothy, flashing white and black and open in a way that is wrong and frightening and Dean shivers, trying to pull away, to fight back.

But the Leviathan's grip is unbreakable, unless Dean wants to lose his bottom jaw.

After that brief blur of movement, of fight and tension, Castiel abruptly goes still again. He tilts his chin up, mismatched eyes appraising Dean, but it is not a gesture of invitation – he doesn't bare his throat to the vampire and allow him the full scent and sight of his open, unguarded vein – not that Dean needs it. His nostrils flare wide, adrenaline forcing his burning lungs to breathe as a human, and the scent of Castiel's blood is so much sweeter now, somehow decadent and forbidden in how tainted it must be.

Castiel shifts his grip on Dean's jaw, curling his fingers into the soft underside and hooking up until Dean has the sick feeling that Castiel might pierce right through his skin, and he moves his thumb to rest against the vampire's lower lip. Dean snarls at him, snapping on reflex, and Castiel smiles once more.

"Easy now, beloved," he murmurs, tilting his head to one side, just a little further than he used to. Dean blinks at him, upper lip curling back in a snarl at the pet name, and the creature laughs, tilting his head up again, sharp teeth sinking into his own lower lip as he slides his thumb along Dean's lip, scrapes the tip of his nail across the vampire's unnatural, shark-like teeth. "I like you like this," he decides, eyes flashing in pleasure when Dean swallows. He can _smell_ the sticky-sweet scent of Castiel's blood, feel how it thrums underneath his skin like the rhythm of an animal giving chase or a steady-fast war drum.

Dean swallows, throat sandpaper-rough and body burning with thirst – his fingers dig in more sharply, one against Castiel's hand, the other finding the sleeve of his black-stained trench coat and tugging, fisting harshly. "I don't want it," he bites out, lying through clenched teeth, and Castiel merely chuckles, and raises a black-coated finger to his lips.

He slides it into his own mouth without a word, messy with it, letting what has gathered in the gaps between his fingers smear across his lips and the black stains on his chin, mixing together. Dean swallows again, licking his lips unbidden, his eyes wide and focused intently on the slow slide of Castiel's stained finger into his mouth, then out again, cleaned, or smeared across his lips. A small, high-pitched sound leaves Dean and he presses forward, thirst overriding his common sense, just for a second, but it is all Castiel needs.

He lets his mouth open at the insistent press of Dean's teeth. They've done this so many times before that it is just natural for Castiel to let Dean bite at his mouth, force his lips further apart, and the Leviathan's snarl turns into a purr when he feels the delicate skin of his vessel split, red blood and dark essence flooding his mouth, and he pushes it into Dean's with his tongue, seals his lips tight and forces his hand back to Dean's throat so the vampire cannot pull away.

Dean has no choice but to swallow – the black goo is thicker than blood, more like milk on his tongue and the back of his throat than the water of blood, and he wants to hate the taste – wants to, but can't. It tastes so damn sweet like overly-cinnamoned apple pie and before Dean realizes what he's doing, he's licking into Castiel's mouth, greedy and demanding and his teeth are biting down for more and his hand is fisting in Castiel's hair to keep the creature close to him.

"There we go," Castiel snarls in triumph, the Leviathan's eyes flashing with victory as he smiles wide. His lips are split and there's blood dripping from at least five different places from where Dean's teeth had bitten too hard, and the blood is mixing with the blackness of the Leviathan and Dean merely makes a soft sound of want, tongue flattening along the black and red smeared across Castiel's jaw, greedy and wet as he tries to drink in Castiel through his skin. "That's it, Dean, there we go…"

But Dean does not hear him – cannot hear him. His mind and his instincts are fully entrenched in the throes of bloodlust and without another second wasted he has a leg hooked behind Castiel's knee and throws all of his weight down onto the creature, and uses the split second advantage that gets him to wrench Castiel's head to one side and sink his teeth into the Leviathan's exposed throat.

He tastes so different now, and fights in a way he never used to when Dean would feed from him like this – the Leviathan's rumbling snarl, he can feel it between his legs and against his own chest, has him shuddering at the power in it, and he tears at the creature's throat like a wolf stealing meat before it's his time – trying to get as much as he can before the Alpha catches on and punishes him for it.

Castiel's fingers knot tightly in Dean's hair and pull him back, the vampire can feel the Leviathan creatures rolling in the black goo he is so eagerly drinking down, wonders if they will survive in the damned corpse that is his body. He drinks so much that he feels sick, nauseous with the amount he is taking, too much sweetness all at once and his body is still trembling with desire.

"Cas," he whispers, when he feels a little bit of his humanity creeping back onto the edges of his psyche, makes him realize just how weak the hand grasping at him is and how Castiel has stopped breathing. He draws back, eyes wide as he looks down at the bloodied mass of torn flesh that used to be Castiel's neck. The creature is still, looking up at him with blank eyes, like he isn't even there. Can't hear Dean anymore. He blinks once. "Cas?" More worried, now, licking his lips just because the scent is still everywhere, of blood and sweet and iron.

He strokes a hand through Castiel's hair, tries to listen for a pulse, and then suddenly Castiel is up, and on him, shoving him down onto his stomach on the cold cement floor. Dean growls, realizing he's been played, struggles with all his might but Castiel has his arms pinned under his knees, weight resting on the small of his back and then suddenly there's a hand at the back of his neck and Dean can't move because he feels pressure at his skull and it's making it difficult to think straight.

"Shh," the Leviathan whispers, slowly letting Dean's arms free, shifting back so that he can lean down and whisper in the vampire's ear; "Hush now, beloved. I'm going to take care of you. You need it; you should never let your guard down, Dean. You taught me that."

"Go to Hell," Dean hisses, low and under his breath, and Leviathan merely laughs, leaning down and nuzzling against the back of Dean's neck. Dean can still feel his blood dripping down, hot and wet and so Goddamn sweet. He feels nauseous again.

"But sweetheart, it's so nice up here," Castiel whispers, running his goo-coated hands through Dean's hair, marking him with his scent as he shifts down lower, hands turning into claws to rip through his clothes and bare the vampire's body to his questing mouth. "And everyone is so inviting."

Dean clenches his eyes shut, gritting his teeth – both sets – as he feels the Leviathan's hands shamelessly explore his body, blackness smearing around his skin, and he knows that he'll walk away from this – if he walks away at all – bearing marks of the creature's claim on him.

At least Castiel has the decency to cover his mouth with a black-stained hand, so that no one has to listen to him scream.


	33. Hot For Teacher

**Title: **Hot For Teacher  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Pairing(s): <strong>Dean/Castiel**  
>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~3,000**  
>Warnings:<strong> teacher/student, kind of asshole!Cas, teenage!Dean  
><strong>Summary:<strong> It was taking every amount of Castiel's, granted, very limited self-control to maintain his cool, calm exterior whenever he was teaching classes with that boy in them. A senior by the name of Dean Winchester, barely a day over eighteen, active in both the football team and the drama club, one of the highest GPA within both those parties. Eager, bright-eyed and possibly what would end Castiel's career if nothing else did.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>I WROTE THIS FOR MEL BECAUSE SHE IS AWESOME OKAY. And it's unbeta'd. Sorry I'm really tired and yeah if it's bad I'll write another sorry.

* * *

><p>Classrooms are too fucking small.<p>

Castiel hadn't always been this way; university life had spoiled him. He'd become used to the grand arches and echoing halls and giant lecture rooms with state of the art equipment, projectors, laser pens and so on. He was used to speaking to three or four hundred students at a time, all of them there because they wanted to be there, all of them eager and willing to learn, to soak in his knowledge.

But then the recession had hit, and budget cuts had to be made. As a primarily science-oriented school, his university had cut the arts and languages sections first, and with that went most of the professors of philosophy and lore. Luckily Castiel's minor in Literature may have saved his entire career, because it happened that Lawrence, Kansas High School was looking for a literature and arts professor (one man for the entire program, and wasn't that a backbreaker and a half).

And so he'd ended up here. A high school were kids had to be there because it was the law; half of them didn't want to, the other half didn't come at all. And his biggest class was maybe two dozen, tight-packed in desks and seats and staring out of the window half the time. It was closer, much more intimate, and it was fucking trouble.

From the front of the classroom Castiel could see each and every one of them clearly; see which were paying attention and which were texting under their desks or drawing on their arms or trying to pass notes to each other. He could see, very easily, whenever the boy who sat in the very front, closest to the far wall where the windows were, flashed him a flirty smile, fluttered his lashes, sprawled in his seat with his legs splayed wide.

It was taking every amount of Castiel's, granted, very limited self-control to maintain his cool, calm exterior whenever he was teaching classes with that boy in them. A senior by the name of Dean Winchester, barely a day over eighteen, active in both the football team and the drama club, one of the highest GPA within both those parties. Eager, bright-eyed and possibly what would end Castiel's career if nothing else did.

Dean was gorgeous, and he knew it, wearing shirts that were just a shade too tight, his hair bleached light brown from the sun, his skin a warm golden color, eyes so vivid that it seemed like they were glowing, sometimes. Whenever Castiel found his eyes straying that way (and they did often), his lips were often at work, either chewing on the end of his pen, or his teeth were sinking into them, making them bitten-red and flushed. Always smiling, like he knew exactly what he was doing, fingers curling restlessly, body arching, legs spread and inviting Castiel closer.

He was like a poisonous flower, Castiel a hapless insect, waiting to be sucked in.

* * *

><p>"Mister Novak?"<p>

Castiel closed his eyes, taking a deep breath at the oh-so-familiar voice. He'd listened to Dean giving him answers to his questions, arguing his points when they'd discussed books and plays, committed each word and syllable Dean had ever said to play them back to himself when he was alone in his bed at night. Made him feel like a dirty old man, stroking himself to the thought of that boy on his knees, or bent over his desk, or whichever of the thousand ways Castiel had pictured taking him.

He let out his breath, and forced a smile to his face, opening his eyes again and raising them to see Dean standing in the doorway. "Yes, Mister Winchester. What can I help you with?"

Dean flushed a little, looking down and biting his lower lip, stepping into Castiel's classroom and shutting the door behind them. It was later, after school hours and Dean must have just finished with football or whatever club it was that he participated in tonight – sometimes Castiel wondered how much the boy must actually sleep, being so busy. Castiel raised an eyebrow when Dean closed the door, but the boy didn't say anything and so neither did he.

He sat back in his chair, tapping his pen against his desk on either side of his fingers as he watched Dean stand, fidgeting awkwardly by the door, eyes down to the ground.

Finally, after a moment, he rolled his eyes. "You can cut that crap, Mister Winchester," he said, not harshly but with no room for argument either. "We both know you're a good actor, and a good actor should know the advantage of subtlety."

Dean's eyes flashed to him, and the shy, awkward smile melted into something amused, sharp – predatory. His eyes gleamed. "Am I really that bad at hiding?" he asked, straightening his shoulders and walking over to stand next to Castiel's desk. The man watched him, admired the damp darkness of his shower-fresh hair, the scent of shampoo and body wash rolling off his clean body, the way his t-shirt clung just a little too tightly because of it.

Castiel shook his head, but didn't say anything in reply to that.

Dean's smirk grew. "Well, Mister Novak," he murmured, spreading his arms out to either side of him. "Here I am."

"Yes," Castiel replied softly, pushing himself slowly to his feet. "Here you are." It was then that he let himself look at Dean – really look at him, at the flexing in his throat when he swallowed, the curve of his bowlegs in his jeans, the way his fingers flexed and curled with restraint. "And now that you are here, what am I to do with you?"

He was like he was shaking; he was so close – _so close_. Dean's heat, his body, was magnetic, pulling Castiel in, and though the boy was still a little shorter, Castiel knew he would catch up, probably overtake in no time at all. He circled Dean, a pleased smile coming to his face when Dean's eyes did drop down, again, shoulders tensing just a little in anticipation of a touch, a bite. And Castiel let his fingers graze the jut of Dean's hipbone, nails digging in through the shirt, just to hear Dean's soft hitch of breath.

"I'm sure, sure you have some ideas," Dean whispered, voice shaky now, unsteady. Castiel could see the fine tremor of his body, heat flaring up in him to realize he had this boy _shaking _with need. Already.

He cocked his head to one side, and took a strong grip of Dean's shoulder, spinning the boy around and then placed a hand against his chest, shoving him back to sit on the desk. "You aren't wrong," he growled, fingers twisting into Dean's thin shirt and pulling him up, close to Castiel's body so that Dean was thrown off balance, relying on both his arm braced against the desk and Castiel's own body weight to keep him upright.

Dean sucked in a breath, eyes darting between Castiel's and the man's lips, before he licked his own, drawing Castiel's attention to them. He'd thought about them for so long, warm, soft, giving under his, or stretched tight around his cock, or around a gag. He'd imagined Dean to be a screamer, loud and uninhibited, would have to keep him quiet to avoid them getting caught.

_God_, his body throbbed with the need to get closer, to get inside of this foolish, arrogant, _gorgeous_ boy who openly flirted with the teacher and thought Iago was a sympathetic character and dared to come into his office after hours to tempt Castiel more.

He leaned down, slowly, eyes dropping from Dean's to admire the boy's mouth, the line of his jaw, the slope of his neck, before he gently pressed his lips against the soft skin of the boy's throat. This way, he could feel Dean swallow, feel the soft, shaky exhale, and step between Dean's legs when they were so easily spread.

Dean's hands came up, either side of him, fingers clutching weakly at the material of his business shirt, stretched tight across his back from Dean pulling on it, thighs rising, grip strong and warm and caging Castiel's hips in.

"Please." It was soft, whispered dirtily in the non-space between their bodies, pressed against Castiel's neck, and the older man closed his eyes, breathed in deeply the scent of Dean's shower gel and the light scent of water and grass underneath, traces of the football field lingering behind, and he shivered, and broke. Broke like a dam, flooding out, powerful and all-consuming.

Their first kiss was harsh, demanding in a way Castiel has never been even with his past lovers; desperate and needing like this kiss might very well be his last, be the best thing he's never going to get again. Dean's lips were soft and yielding, pushed out and open to allow room for Castiel's own, tongue sliding inside to claim and to taste.

Dean was so _warm_, open and inviting and so fucking gorgeous it was all Castiel could do to keep going, keep ignoring the thoughts screaming in the back of his mind that this was wrong, this kid was his _student_, even if he was legal, and Castiel stifled those traitorous thoughts out, because Dean was here, _his_.

_His_.

"We do this," he growled, pulling back long enough to yank Dean off the edge of his desk, to his feet, tearing at the boy's shirt like he has a vengeance against anything hiding Dean's skin away from him, nails digging in too sharp and leaving scratches behind, "there's no going back, Winchester. I'm not losing my job over some fucked-up hots you have for teacher."

Dean swallowed, wide-eyed, and nodded, licking his lips, able to taste Castiel's kiss left behind on them. "Understood," he replied, reaching forward, grabbing Castiel and pulling him back in by his tie, knotted tight around his waist. "So come on, Professor."

"God damn it," Castiel snarled, turning his attention to Dean's jeans – damned things were the only things standing in the way of Castiel and where he most wanted to be, buried deep inside of Dean, fucking the boy until he screamed, _yes_, fuck, he couldn't fucking wait. "Turn around, boy."

He could feel the shiver than ran through Dean's body against his palms, as the teenager ducked his eyes submissively, victory written into the slant of his mouth, and obeyed, bracing himself right up against the desk and baring himself to Castiel's hungry gaze. It was all the invitation Castiel needed, as he stepped up, rutting his clothed cock against Dean's ass, only sparing enough time not touching the boy to yank open his jean button and zipper and yank the damn clothing away.

Dean wasn't wearing any underwear.

That wasn't the only surprise, either.

"_Fuck_," Castiel whispered, the word almost turning into a snarl, as he leaned back, enough to see the shiny, unmistakable slick of lube between Dean's cheeks, and he spread the boy open, sliding his thumb along Dean's hole, found it open and giving readily to the press of his finger. "You fucking _whore_." This time the word was a snarl, something dark and damning coming from the pit of Castiel's stomach, and his other hand was freeing his hard cock from his pants before he could think about it. "When did you do this?"

At Dean's silence, Castiel paused, and brought his hand down, sharply, on the teen's thigh, earning a jolt and a low hiss, fingers clenching in the edges of Castiel's desk. "I asked you a question, Mister Winchester."

"In the…" Dean's breathing was heavy, the words gasped-out, muffled against the desk. "In the shower. J-Jerked myself off to the thought of you fucking me."

The sound Castiel let out at that, he wasn't completely sure was entirely human. The idea of this _boy _– this gorgeous, flirty, brilliant _boy_, would even think about shit like that, shove fingers up his ass and whisper Castiel's name into the cold tiles of the shower-room walls, clench his eyes tight and imagine Castiel fucking him, gripping his hips and biting the back of his neck and fucking him into oblivion, was too much. Too much to process.

He spat onto his hand, slicking up his cock. It wasn't a lot, but if Dean had done a good enough job, it would be enough. If not, well, boys had to learn there were consequences to their actions.

"You're such a fucking slut, Winchester," Castiel snarled, reaching forward to knot his hands in Dean's hair, pulling the boy back at such an angle that it was hard to breath, it cricked his neck and forced his spine to arch, his hips to rise and tilt back at the perfect angle that Castiel's cock, already resting at Dean's hole, sank inside. _Fuck_, he was even warmer on the inside, clenching down around the intrusion, unexpected, sudden. "Couldn't even wait to ask me nicely, just had to flaunt yourself until I snapped, didn't you?"

Dean's eyes were clenched tightly shut, his cheeks flushed with arousal and shame, hands bracing forward, palms slippery-wet against the table.

He didn't answer, but Castiel didn't need him to – he leaned over Dean, letting his cock slide deeper into the teen's welcoming, hot body, bared his teeth against the side of Dean's throat. "That's alright, sweetheart," he whispered, dirty and rough, free hand digging tightly into Dean's flank. "But you only needed to ask."

He let Dean's head go, then, fucking into Dean in earnest until he could go no farther, pulling out and slamming back in hard enough that the desk screeched, scraping across the floor before Dean scrambled for purchase and braced his legs to stop it moving any more. The teen moaned, loudly, when Castiel began to fuck him – high and breathy whines punctuated with soft, bitten-back groans as he clearly tried to keep himself quiet. Castiel didn't care; he braced his hand on the back of Dean's neck and kept going, slamming into Dean hard enough that he would be sure the teen would feel him for a week, at least, if not more. He wanted Dean to feel him for the rest of his Goddamn life.

The tight, hot, slick clench of Dean's body made him feel like he was losing his Goddamn mind – Castiel blew out a heavy breath, fire licking up and down his spine in a hot caress, urging him onward, forward, to bite down on Dean's neck and tear up his back and chest and fill him up as many time as he wanted, just to have it leak back out of Dean, but the rational part of him knew Dean was half-naked for a lot of people and if the wrong guys saw the marks there would be questions.

Unbidden, something dark and possessive flared up in him at that – that other people would see Dean, naked. Might lust after him or touch him or bend him over like Castiel was doing; had him baring his teeth against Dean's neck, gripping his hips tight and fucking in like he was sprinting the final stretch of a marathon. The wet sound of skin slapping together was the only sound to accompany their harsh, heavy breathing.

"Please." Again, whispered so quietly, so desperately that it was a wonder Castiel heard it at all, and he tilted his head, pressed a kiss to the back of Dean's neck, and reached around to find the teen's hard cock, throbbing and burning hot under his touch. Dean visibly jolted at the touch, his entire body going tense, shaking hard.

"Gonna come, Dean?" Castiel whispered, growled against the sweaty tan line on Dean's neck. "Gonna come, bent over this desk, getting fucked by your teacher? Knowing that from now on whenever you're in the classroom all you'll be able to think about is how I fucked you to within an inch of your life, until you screamed?" Dean moaned out, low, long, a broken sound that sounded like a 'Yes'. "Then come, Dean, like the slut you are on my cock. Do it. Now."

It took a few more tries – Dean wasn't hard-wired to come on command alone. Yet. But soon enough Castiel felt the satisfying spasm of Dean's muscles unbearably tight around him, Dean biting down on his own forearm to muffle the sounds as his cock twitched and spilled onto the desk side in front of him, undoubtedly leaving a stain behind. "There we go," Castiel hissed, victorious and high off of knowing Dean had wanted this, wanted _him, _that he could make this boy so desperate and needy for his cock – it was one of the best fucking feelings in the world.

It thrust into Dean's spent body well after the boy was done with his orgasm, wringing tired moans and stifled whines from Dean as the boy went tense, tired and sore, and he pulled out, stroking himself through the last and spilling onto Dean's sore ass and thighs – he wanted Dean to be _wrecked, _ruined, _reeking_ of him until he managed to get home. That dark and possessive part of him was flaring up huge today.

When he was finished, he tucked himself back in and left Dean there, still panting on his desk, shaking legs barely holding him up. He didn't touch Dean, or try and help him up, but merely stood next to the desk, arms folded, waiting for Dean to put two brain cells together and push himself to his feet, clumsy fingers fumbling to redress himself.

"Mister Winchester," Castiel called, when Dean was looking as presentable as he could under the circumstances, and was headed to the door without another word. "The paper comparing the Hero Complex is still due on Monday. Do not think that this changes anything."

He didn't need to look at Dean to see the boy's sly smirk, his victorious smile. "Wouldn't dream of it…Cas," he replied, making Castiel's mouth twist, but then Dean was out the door and away before Castiel could correct him. Though, come to think of it, 'Cas' didn't sound too bad. At least coming from Dean.

"Fuck," he thought to himself. He was gonna get so fired.


	34. You'll See

**Title: **You'll See  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Pairing(s): <strong>Dean/Castiel**  
>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~1200 (SORRY IT'S SO SHORT)**  
>Warnings:<strong> cameras, Angel!Dean  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Dean was absolutely gorgeous, but he didn't see it. So Castiel tries to make him see it.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>IT'S AMANI'S BIRTHDAY SEND HER LOVE. She wanted Angels and cameras so here we go. I didn't beta it. I should really do that.

* * *

><p>Dean was absolutely gorgeous.<p>

Anyone with half a brain could see that – the young Angel was fit, vibrant, genuinely a good person, and had the most beautiful eyes Castiel had ever seen. The older Angel – if he was any good at writing – could wax poetic about how perfect his lips were, how it seemed like they fit together as puzzle pieces when Dean would wrap his legs around Castiel and lie back while they mated. Castiel could sing ballads about the throes of his mate in Heat, about his golden-brown wings, his hair, and his hands. Anything and everything about him.

But Dean didn't see it. He flushed and ducked his head away from any attempt at flirting, wings fanning the air shyly, downcast. He didn't understand why Angels would kill or die to look upon him, why Castiel would wake up ten minutes before his mate every day just to watch him sleep. He didn't understand why Castiel refused to allow any untoward attention toward his mate – refused to let other dominant Angels get too close, puffed up his feathers and leased a snarl that sent them packing.

He didn't understand just how beautiful he was. It was downright tragic.

So Castiel was going to change that.

Words, he had no real skill with – the written language didn't come to him easily and he had no real voice to speak of to sing. But what he _was_ good at was seeing beauty from behind the lens of a camera. He could take something as mundane as the park outside their house and transform it into a work of art to rival great masterpieces of older times.

He'd been thinking about it all day, setting up their bedroom for just the right lighting – blinds half-drawn so no one would see unless they tried very hard to look, extra exposure for the corners, bright white sheets that would make the colors of Dean's wings shimmer with sunlight.

He was nervous, but when Dean came home it seemed to melt away, as he drew his mate into a kiss and wrapped his wings tight around Dean, pulling him in. The mesh of their feathers together could be a poem all in itself, the soft drag of Dean's softer feathers against Castiel's own coarser, older ones, how the brown and gold in Dean's stood out so brilliantly against Castiel's black and dark blue.

"Hello, Dean," he murmured into the softness of his mate's hair, affection warming his Grace so much that he was sure Dean could feel it, and the other Angel hummed, burying his face into Castiel's neck, breathing deep.

"Hey, Cas," he replied, sounding sleepy and happy and Castiel smiled, glad that his mate was reassured by his scent, relaxed and calm as he took Dean's hands and led him towards their bedroom, their nest. The submissive Angel's eyes blinked open wide when he saw the lamps on each corner of the room, brightening up each edge so everything stood out almost as though someone had gone in and redrawn all the edges. He tensed up a little, unsure but not afraid. "Cas? What'cha got goin' on in here?"

Castiel paused, turning around, and smiled, placing a chaste kiss to Dean's forehead. He didn't reply straight away, merely admiring the play of Dean's features in the false light. "God, you're beautiful." It came out of him unbidden, but it was as true as the first time he'd said it, and Dean, just like that first time, flushed, ducking his head so he didn't have to meet Castiel's eyes, biting his lower lip and fanning his wings as though waving away the thoughts.

"I'm -."

"Shh," the older Angel urged, smiling and placing a hand on the side of his mate's face. "Come on, Dean. I just want to take a few pictures of you."

"But," Dean asked, but went without hesitation, "why?"

"Because," Castiel replied plainly, smiling when Dean crawled onto their shared bed, staring back at Castiel, merely sitting, cross-legged, wings drooping lazily on the sheets, "you," Click, a bright flash of light, the first one taken as Dean blinked away the blue spots with a shy smile, "are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

* * *

><p>The first picture was Castiel's favorite; Dean, just sitting there, his clothes muted and almost black against the white sheets, his wings shining brightly as though he was the sun fallen from the sky to land as a God among men. His eyes were so bright they looked like they had been enhanced, but Castiel hadn't done a thing – merely let his mate become captured in this perfect moment, with a soft, affectionate smile on his face and love in his eyes and happiness in the set of his wings.<p>

The second picture they took, Castiel had joined Dean setting the camera to spontaneously go off every six minutes. He had Dean's face cupped between his palms, was kissing his mate softly, on the forehead after he had claimed his mouth, eyes closed. Dean had clung to him, fingers wrapping gently around his wrist, eyes shut, wings curving closer. The love and trust had been astounding, that his mate had shown him then.

The next one had Dean on display for his mate, shirt thrown off to one corner of the room, laying back against Castiel's chest while his mate stroked a hand through his wings, soaking himself in Dean's oil to mark himself, the other around Dean's hard, flushed cock. The redness staining Dean's cheeks had tinted his chest as well, provided such a lovely contrast to his wings, and the arch of Dean's neck back against Castiel's shoulder when he'd tugged, mouth open and panting, heels dug into the mattress, body tense and wanting – Castiel could never write enough about that, even if he were a poet.

The next was Dean on his hands and knees, fingers curled tight to the edge of the bed, his body stripped naked and bare for the camera to capture, wings flared out in a submissive stance, legs spread wide. His face was buried against the edge of the bed, jaw clenched tight, and only Castiel's legs were visible in that picture between Dean's own, but it didn't take a lot of imagination to figure out what he was doing.

The sixth was very similar to the fifth, but this time there was another set of hands in the frame, gripping Dean's hips tightly, mirroring the curve of the younger Angel's ass and straining, tense thighs. Underneath his wing, just visible, was a new-sucked mark on his flank, branding him, claiming him, and Dean's face was twisted into something like satisfaction and need all mixed into one.

The last one – or at least, the last one that Castiel kept – had Dean on his back. The lighting was a little funny because the Angel's convulsing wings had knocked one of the lamps out of its place and that area of the room was dark, but not enough to hide the tired, sated look on Dean's face, his head bent back against the white sheets, eyes half-lidded and staring up at Castiel above him. His neck was tilted, throat bared, Castiel's black wings meshing with the vibrant golden of his fallen sun, one hand braced against the center of Dean's chest where their Graces were glowing bright, that pale blue clashing with the white spend on Dean's abdomen.

* * *

><p>"You're beautiful," Castiel said to Dean after the pictures were developed, and they were going through them all, and Dean flushed, ducking his head shyly, tucking his wings tighter against Castiel's.<p>

"Not as beautiful as you."

Castiel snorted, rolling his bright eyes. Dean needed more convincing, it seemed.

He didn't have a problem with a work in progress.


	35. Bend, Break, Snap

**Title: **Bend, Break, Snap  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Pairing(s): <strong>Dean/Castiel**  
>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~2,000**  
>Warnings:<strong> wing!kink, oil-gland!kind, self lubrication  
><strong>Summary:<strong> His entire body is on fire – everything feels like pins sticking into his skin; the sheets are soaked and caking and sticking to his damp wings, heavy with oil and sweat, and his body feels like it's about to burst into flames.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Unbeta'd.

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><p>His entire body is on fire – everything feels like pins sticking into his skin; the sheets are soaked and caking and sticking to his damp wings, heavy with oil and sweat, and his body feels like it's about to burst into flames.<p>

Eyes glazed and unfocused blink upwards at the ceiling, mouth open and panting in what feels like a fruitless effort to drag air into starved lungs – his wrists ache from where he's been pulling at his restraints, desperate to rut, to fuck, _needing_ to satisfy the burning emptiness in his body.

His mouth is so dry but every other part of him is wet, sweaty, soaking, slick from his body seeping into the bedsheets, into the air – it reeks in here, of unclaimed Angel and heat and a begging cry of want. The windows aren't open – the dominant Angel doesn't dare leave his young mate exposed like that – and the heat in the room is stifling. He feels like he can't breathe.

There are tears of frustration and desperation in his eyes, leaking down the sides of his face. He needs so badly it feels like he's going to die.

A rustle of feathers captures his attention and he turns his head to one side, trying his best to focus on the bright blue eyes and dark wings of his mate. "_Cas_," Dean gasps, almost no voice left to him now from his begging and pleading. The Heat had hit him almost six hours ago and he's trembling with need now. "Cas, please…"

Castiel cocks his head to one side, lips pursed out in thought as he looks at his mate. Dean's wrists are rubbed raw from his ties, keeping the Angel down on the bed, his wings ruffled and stained with oil, and his chest and face are red from arousal and need. His cock, hand and flushed, lay on his stomach, a shiny metal cock-ring closed around the base keeping Dean locked in.

Dean has harnesses around his wings, too, to stop him rubbing his oil glands too raw against his own skin. They'd learned that could happen the hard way.

"Not yet," Castiel whispers in reply, barely too loud to hear, and Dean practically screams in frustration, a broken sob falling from his lips as he arches his hips, his very scent calling out to Castiel, to mate and take his Angel and make him feel good and make him scream, knot him, breed him – everything Castiel's own body is burning to do.

But however much he wants it, the sight of Dean in the throes of his Heat is something he doesn't get to see often, and he is determined to enjoy it.

"You're gorgeous, you know that?" he whispers, to no one in particular, not even sure if Dean can hear him or is listening, as he takes a step towards the bed, finds Dean looking at him, grassy eyes unfocused, his entire body tense like he's trying to throw himself at Castiel. "So fucking beautiful, and that's even before you're writhing on my cock, begging for my knot." Dean whimpers at the word, eyes rolling back in his head, head tilting back to expose his throat, wings flaring wide. "That's what you want, isn't it, baby? Want my knot?"

"_Cas_." It's a broken name, now, spilling from Dean's mouth, probably just about all that he can say at this point, and the Angel struggles against his bindings again, bruising his wrists and his ankles in an attempt to rip his way free and get to his mate. "Cas." A growl, now, a low threat without much heat as Dean's eyes flare open and lock onto the other Angel's, teeth bared, snarl rumbling in his chest.

Castiel hums, smiling to himself, and kneels down on the bed. He's still fully clothed, his cock pushing up against the material of his work slacks, because he had to go to work and the last time Dean was in heat while he was a work the young Angel had managed to ruin his entire office and render it unusable for about a week after.

"You know why I had to," he says, thinking of that day, reaching out with one hand to splay wide across Dean's heaving chest, and the younger Angel lets out a soft, broken sound of want, threat gone, eyes begging now. "Can't let you out of the house like this."

_"Cas_." It's not a disagreement – Dean doesn't want to argue. He just _needs_. In what little room he has, he spreads his legs wider in invitation, hips rising, tilting for a better angle, eyes desperate. "Please, Cas, please!"

The older Angel hums again, tilting his head to one side, and lets his hand slide down, gentle wrapping around the cock-ring on Dean and sliding it off, to accompany the whimper of distress the Angel lets out. Then, he slides his fingers back further, sinks them into the tight, wet heat of Dean's slicked hole.

Dean cries out, loud and desperate, thrashing as much as he can against his restraints.

"Cas!"

"You're so wet, Dean," he whispers, like he doesn't hear, breathes deep the scent of his mate's wing oil and slick and sinks his fingers in deeper, crooks them up until he finds the spot that's just like Dean's oil glands and presses against it mercilessly, making Dean choke and shudder. "So unbelievably wet. My poor baby, I bet I could just sink right into you, couldn't I? You'd just take it like a desperate little whore, wouldn't you?"

"Please," Dean whispers, eyes wide. There's no volume to his voice anymore.

"Hold still, Dean," Castiel whispers, as he reaches down to untie Dean's ankles, stretching his legs out and rubbing the sore joints lightly between warm, gentle fingers, but Dean's shaking so much and Castiel isn't even sure he's being heard. "I'm going to give you what you need, baby, okay?"

A small hitch of breath is the only acknowledgement Castiel gets, as he kneels between Dean's spread legs, leans forward and takes Dean's cock all the way down his throat.

Dean's strangled cry is all the warning Castiel gets before he feels the warm splash of come on his tongue – Dean's orgasm comes fast, the Angel strung out on six hours of pheromones and such a sudden outlet, and Castiel hums, sucking him down happily, tasting Dean's Heat on his skin, in his come, as he sinks two of his fingers back into his mate, fucking him through it, making Dean shake and his thighs weakly clutch at Castiel's head, heels digging into the joints of his wings to keep him down, keep him still and _there_ before the sensation gets too painful and Dean is left panting and wanting again.

Castiel hums, licking Dean through the last of his orgasm, and lets his cock slip from his mouth, planting a kiss to Dean's stomach, up his heaving chest, only stopping when he reaches his mouth. Dean's eyes are still glazed and unfocused, his mouth open, gaping. "Feeling better, sweetheart?" he asks, stroking a hand through Dean's hair, smiling wide, and the submissive Angel's eyes lock onto him, finally, narrowing in accusation.

"You know what I really want," he grits out, voice almost not there anymore, low and rough like he's just the one that had a cock down his throat, and Castiel's smile grows. "Cas -." Dean cuts off when Castiel's fingers withdraw, hands clenching into fists in his restraints, wrists rolling. "You know what I want. Come _on_."

Castiel tilts his head to one side again, eyes dark in thought. "Hmm…" And Dean's already letting out this little groan of frustration, eyes rolling back and swallowing hard. "Why don't you…" He let his hands trail up, deftly pulling at the knots keeping Dean's wrists in place, freeing them, and he takes them in hand, gently rubbing his thumbs against the sore bruises. "…show me how much you want it, baby?"

It takes Dean's heat-addled brain a second, but then suddenly he's up, wings violent, caging Castiel in with his wings as he shoves his mate down, baring his teeth against the older Angel's mouth, kissing him hard, and his fingers are tearing at Castiel's work slacks just enough to get his cock out, and then it's Castiel's turn to roll his eyes back, gritting his teeth and grunting hard as he's suddenly enveloped in Dean's tight heat, his mate shuddering and moaning like this is the best fucking thing he's ever felt, rutting his hips down and Castiel can feel his knot swelling already and they've barely gotten started.

"Come on," Dean demands, fingers clawing at Castiel's wings, at his shirt and coat, almost ripping at the fabric in his frenzy. "Come _on, _you son of a bitch."

And Castiel snarls right back at him, hooking Dean's thighs and rolling them both around and if Dean hurts his wings crushing them under his weight he gives no sign of feeling or caring around it, and he wraps his legs tight around Castiel's waist, practically howling in satisfaction when the dominant Angel's hands find his oil glands, press hard, milking the drained glands viciously just to hear Dean whimper and tilt his head back in submission and Castiel can't stop himself biting down on his mate's neck, pressing his hips flush against Dean's ass, rutting in until he feels his knot slide in and swell so large that he has no hope of pulling back out, and so he stills, suddenly, not wanting to hurt Dean, and shudders, feeling his orgasm rip through him like Dean's hands through his clothes.

"_Fuck_," Dean hisses, entire body going lax as he feels Castiel's seed finally cool the fires of his Heat, eyes fluttering closed as he sighs and relaxes, letting his legs fall back to the bed, and sighed heavily. "Fuck, Cas, took you fucking long enough."

Castiel laughs, tiredly, in no mood to answer back. Dean's body is still clenching deliciously around his knot and he knows, now that he's in Dean he's probably not coming back out for the foreseeable future. "Can't help it, baby," he replies, "you're just too pretty when you need me so bad."

"You're a fucking asshole," Dean bites back, but softly, forgiving, stroking his wet fingers through Castiel's wings and lifting his own tired and shaking wings up, plastering Castiel's with his mating oil. "What took you so long? I thought you'd be back sooner."

"Mm, code," Castiel replies, nuzzling into his mate's sweaty neck, kissing there. "Couldn't leave – had to stay behind to make sure he was gonna be okay."

A pause. "Is he?" Dean asks, and Castiel can't help but smile at the fact that even fucked out and strung out on mating pheromones Dean would still take time to ask about a patient who'd nearly died today.

Castiel smiles a little. "Yes, baby, he's gonna be fine."

"Good." A shift, then, a clench of Dean's body around Castiel's swollen knot, and the dominant Angel hisses again, pleasure licking up his spine, making his wings flare in a dominant claim before driving back down to meet his mate's, mark him in return even as his mouth opens wide to sink into Dean's flushed skin. "Mm, _fuck_, Cas, come on."

The only response he gets is to thrust a little deeper into Dean, lids fluttering when he feels his knot start to deflate, his seed and Dean's slick making Dean so wet, dirty-soaked and welcoming. Yeah, he's ready for another round too.


	36. Getting Back To The Daily

**Title: **Getting Back To The Daily…  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Pairing(s): <strong>Dean/Castiel**  
>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~2,500**  
>Warnings:<strong> self-lubricated, wing!kink, bad cliché, D/s  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Castiel has never been less excited to go back to work than the days tailing the end of Dean's heats.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Have some bad Angel!porn. I don't know. I needed to write something that wasn't NaNo so here it is. I haven't checked it I'm so tired anyway have fun. :D

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><p>Castiel has never been less excited to go back to work than the days tailing the end of Dean's heats. Before and after those few ragged, raw, fuck-until-they-bleed days, Dean is the most affectionate, touchy-feely, adorable ball of ruffled feathers and happiness that Castiel has ever seen. Before, he's preparing his mate; getting Castiel ready and receptive to him, to let him in close to bite and scratch and entice his dominant partner into mating with him – scenting his pheromones and letting Castiel catch his fertility in the breaths between them.<p>

After, Dean is usually preparing for a nest he isn't ready to have yet – affectionate with the dominant Angel because although Castiel knows he is more evolved than this, instinct still screams at an intruder to his nest, even if his intruder is his own offspring. Though they both know Dean doesn't conceive during his heats and won't until he stops taking his birth control, Dean's instincts tell him to dote on and adore his mate so that Castiel's instincts don't reflexively lash out at the disruption and confusion a newborn can bring.

So Castiel hates leaving Dean like that – when the submissive Angel can still function without Castiel's dick up his ass, pumping him full of seed – but his job only allows a few days' leave and when he had called in to announce his temporary leave of absence for Dean, his patients had been far from in the clear.

The first thing he does is check on the man who coded the night he had rejoined Dean for his heat, and the large smile on his face is not entirely forced as he picks up the clipboard, scouring the covering Resident's notes.

"How are we feeling today, Mister Franklin?" he asks, raising an eyebrow at the drop in dose of the anti-coagulate he had prescribed. Perhaps the patient had suffered no more cardiac incidents.

"Much better, Doc, thanks," comes the reply, cheery and alert and he raises his eyes to look the patient over. Mister Franklin is a healthy man, in his late thirties, with smile lines and dark brown eyes that seem warm and friendly. Castiel is glad to see him back in good health.

"Good," he says, nodding to himself and setting the chart down. "Good. The old ticker been giving you any more complaints?" The man shrugs, shaking his head, and the Angel nods again. "Excellent. Well, it seems we have a new diagnosis and I see you've already been started on meds, so we'll just have to wait and see. Hopefully this won't mean surgery."

"Where've you been, Doc?" Franklin asks after receiving the good news, one eyebrow raised and Castiel wonders if perhaps the stench of Dean's heat and their sex still lingers on him, despite his clean clothes and recent shower – sometimes his young mate is so damn fertile, it's a wonder the entire block doesn't reek of him.

The Angel smiles. "My mate recently went into mating season, and I had to stay home to take care of him. Nothing out of the ordinary."

The man nods. "You guys tryin'?" he asks, and Castiel blinks, for a moment surprised that the man would hear the 'he' when referring to Dean and still assume that the pair were fertile. Most humans had to have that explained to them. Castiel nods, not replying verbally, but still with a smile. "That's great, Doc. Good luck. Nothin' like havin' little ones around."

"I don't doubt it," Castiel says, shaking his head slightly. "I'll be back to check on you in a little while, Mister Franklin. Get some rest."

"Castiel!" The Angel's shoulders go tense when he hears the high-pitched, annoying voice of Megan, an intern who seems to have made it her sole purpose in life to work her hands into Castiel's wings and into his pants. He sighs, forcing himself to relax and smile at her as she approaches, black shock of hair in complete disarray around her face, her ivory wings fanning the air and not-so-subtly blowing her scent towards him. The amount of pheromones is almost staggering and Castiel does his best not to breathe in. "Cas, _hey._"

"Meg," Castiel replies, making sure to keep a respectful distance between the two of them. "How can I help you?"

She smiles – this wide, lopsided smile that Castiel supposes could be charming, but just makes him slightly uncomfortable. He's very aware that the Angels around them are watching them curiously, though the humans barely notice, and he's also very aware that Meg is stinking up the place, almost as though she's approaching heat herself, and after being so near to _his _very in-heat mate, the clash of pheromones is confusing and arousing at the same time.

"Nah, it's okay," she says, rocking onto her tiptoes and biting her lower lip. "I don't need anything. Just wanted to welcome you back."

"I…" And then suddenly the reason why Castiel's head is so blocked full of pheromones becomes obvious, as a large, warm hand suddenly settles itself on his back, and the air becomes infused with the scent of _Dean_ – still-in-heat-barely, teasing along the edges of his scent, and still reeking of Castiel too – _Dean_.

"That's so _sweet_," Dean says, his voice dripping sweetness in a way that can only really be described as catty, and Castiel would be amused but his head is clogging with submissive Angel pheromones and Dean's scent is teasing at him, making his cock twitch in his scrubs, his fingers clenching tightly as Dean's hand smoothes out along his back, hooks around his waist and pulls him in, and when one of Dean's wings stretches out to cover his, the wings are wet and reek of Dean's mating oil. "Isn't it, Cas? Someone's missed you."

Castiel can _taste_ the venom on Dean's tongue, knows his mate can be a fiery little thing when he wants to be, and notes with no small amount of surprise when Meg's eyes widen and she steps back. Meg and Dean have never met before and Castiel doubts they ever will again. His mate tends to leave an impression.

"So, um, yeah, I'll…see you around, Cas-_tiel_," Meg stutters out, turning on her heel and almost flying down the hallway in her rush to get away, and Castiel huffs out a laugh, but then Dean's fingers tighten in his flank and Castiel is aware of just how much his mate is vibrating with rage.

"You do that," Dean snarls under his breath, and then Castiel's whirling around, pinned against the wall just outside Mister Franklin's door, Dean's hand braced by his head so one half of his vision is merely Dean's bare skin – his mate hasn't changed his clothes, has barely dressed, still in an oil-soaked t-shirt and jeans that bare finger-shaped holes from where Castiel was too impatient to bother with the button and zip (which are luckily still intact) and even from here Castiel can tell the jeans are barely hanging onto Dean's hips.

Dean smiles, wide, warm, and sharp. "Hey, baby," the submissive Angel whispers, looking for all the world like he's in control, but Castiel can see the wideness of his pupils, scent the desperation in him, tell in the tight arch of his wings and how much they're curving forward just how badly Dean needs him right then.

"Did I leave too early?" Castiel asks, his hands coming forward without hesitation to flatten under Dean's wings, trapping his mate's glands between his fore- and middle-finger, lightly rubbing them, but doesn't find them swollen or sore. His mate is not still trapped in the throes of his heat. Something else is making him shake like this.

Dean's eyelids flutter a little, lower lip sucked between his teeth at the touch of Castiel's hands in his wings, before they flare open again, eyes dark and determined, lower jaw jutting forward in defiance. "No," he whispers, low, measured. "In fact, I still had the day off, so I was going to join you for lunch. But now…" Anger, then, flashing across his face – an irrational, instinctual rage against anything and anyone threatening his nest or encroaching on his mate. Sometimes Castiel forgets just how powerful and frightening his mate can be when he's spent days watching Dean writhe and beg for him. "Now, I think you should take me to your office and fuck me into next week, 'cause there's no way I'm leaving without that bitch being able to smell me _everywhere._"

…Oh. Of course. Dean _would_ choose to focus on Meg's attempts at seduction and not Castiel's refusal. Still, the Angel cannot deny that it's hot as Hell to see his mate so riled up, possessiveness set into ever line of his clenched jaw and curling fingers and arching wings.

Castiel can't stop his smirk even if he wanted to – loves how it makes Dean narrow his eyes, makes him even angrier to see Castiel so smug. "Come here, then, baby," the dominant Angel whispers, coaxing Dean closer with a hand around the back of his neck, cradling his skull and threading his fingers through his hair. "I'll give you what you need."

Dean's shaking by the time they manage to stumble into Castiel's office, his young mate clawing at him in a desperate attempt to rip the scrubs and lab coat from his body and Castiel can only give an amused huff when Dean's strength fails him, leaving the young Angel growling, frustrated, against Castiel's mouth.

"Get your fucking ass naked or so help me," Dean hisses out, eyes narrowed and dark and Castiel is quick to obey, placating his mate with gentle kisses down his throat and collarbone as he strips, before turning his hands to Dean. Perhaps Dean isn't still entrenched in mating lust, but his pheromones say otherwise and clearly he's not yet back to full capacity, if his twitching wings and desperately grasping hands are anything to go by.

Once they're both sufficiently unclothed to Dean's liking, the young Angel has his nails digging into Castiel's shoulders, pulling them closer together and trapped Castiel in with his wings, rutting close to each other and Castiel knows that Dean will be soaking his scent into Castiel's skin – he can feel Dean's slick oil on his arms, his wings, and Dean's sweat and pre-come on his stomach, and can smell Dean's own self-made slick against his mate's skin. God, had Dean even showered before coming here? It was a good thing Castiel's boss is a human otherwise he would be fired for indecent exposure or something.

_"Cas_," Dean hisses out, eyes glazed over, full lips parted and panting against his mate's open mouth, fingers clawing against Castiel's neck and shoulders and the older Angel groans, guiding Dean to lean against his desk, bracing them both so that he can rut, drive his cock against his mate's thigh and feel Dean shudder around him.

"You're fucking gorgeous, you know that?" Castiel pants out, flattening a hand against the back of Dean's neck and forcing their mouths together, as his mate whines softly, wings curling forward in invitation, his ass sliding around on Castiel's desk and it's going to be _soaked_ and probably leave a stain and Castiel can't fucking wait. Dean's legs slide further apart and it's so easy to step between them. "You have nothing to worry about, beautiful, nothing at all."

"Like fuck," Dean snarls back, bracing himself with one hand against Castiel's desk, sliding his hips forward so that Castiel has more room between his thighs, and it seems like the obvious conclusion when the dominant Angel curls his fingers in his mate's thighs, spreads and rocks forward, sinking into Dean's wet, fucked-out hole like he was there not ten minutes ago. Which, more like an hour or two, but still. Dean's body is open and ready for Castiel and aside from a slight pain, the Angel sinks in as easy as anything. "Know you won't fuckin' cheat on me," he grits out, wrapping his legs around Castiel as the dominant Angel breathes deep and tries to clear his head long enough to make sure he's gonna fuckin' last, because Dean's clenching down so tight around him and he smells so damn good and Castiel is pretty sure he's gonna lose his mind. "That bitch needs to know it too."

_"Dean_," Castiel grits out, reaching forward to wrap his fingers tight around his mate's shoulders, fucking in as deep as he can go until he hears Dean's sated moan, knows he's gone deep enough, rocked up just right to hit that spot that has his mate writhing. "Fuck, love it when you get like this, baby."

"Don't make it a fuckin' habit," Dean bites back, leaning up to pull Castiel down and bite into his mouth as the dominant Angel starts his rhythm, fucking into Dean as hard as he can – he should be punishing his mate, for showing up to work for sex _again_, and disrupting his schedule and getting in the way of seeing his patients, but, damn it, Dean when he's in the withdrawal from heat and everything's still shaky around the edges and his instincts are screaming to sate and keep Castiel are things that the dominant Angel can never and will never be able to ignore. It's just too damn _tempting_.

"Promise, baby," Castiel whispers, leaning down over his mate, hands braced in Dean's wings, kissing at his bare chest and throat, anywhere he can reach while Dean combs his fingers through Castiel's hair and swallows back his sounds. Castiel finishes first, his orgasm licking down his spine and out of him without warning, bringing him to a stuttering halt inside of his mate and Dean shivers, legs going lax and relying on Castiel to hold them up.

The room reeks of sex, and Dean still hasn't come. Without a word the submissive Angel wipes his hands down his own thighs, slick with his natural lubricant, and takes himself in hand, eyes on his mate as he strokes himself once, twice, once more and comes with a shudder, other hand pulling in Castiel close so that his release lands on the skin of his dominant mate.

Castiel will stink of Dean's sex, and the older Angel knows enough about his mate to realize that this was exactly the point.

He also knows that if he comes home smelling any different – has a shower or changes his clothes – then there will be Hell to pay.

Dean smiles wide, rubbing the come and slick from his fucked-out hole onto Castiel's skin. "I'll see you at home," he says sweetly, pressing a chaste kiss to Castiel's mouth and sliding one dirty hand through the Doctor's feathers, before he dresses and leaves the room.

After washing his hands thoroughly and redressing himself as best he can, Castiel returns to his patient, Mister Franklin, he's sure he looks a mess. The man raises an eyebrow, whistling low. "I know that look," he says with a large smile and a chuckle. "The feisty ones are the best."

And Castiel smiles, biting his lower lip as he picks up the clipboard again to add his own notes. "Yeah, they really are."


	37. Well, That'sThat's New

**Title:** Well, That's…. That's New.  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>PairingsCharacters: **Dean/Castiel, Adam/Michael  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> All AU.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> heat!fic (not Dean/Cas), ideals not necessarily supported by anyone or by me, Adam's 17 so underage in some countries.  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~2,700  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Dean's used to this sort of thing by now – he teaches an age range where the first heats hitting are common, but Adam Milligan is…an unusual case, to say the least.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. More Snaphots 'verse – Cas asking Dean out! Aww yeah.

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><p>For those of you on this lovely website following the snapshots 'verse - which contains 'Got A Bad Case Of Lovin' You', 'Bend, Break, Snap', 'You'll See' and 'Getting Back to the Daily...', would you rather I simply continued posting these ficlets in this Book of Eros, or I moved it to a completely new story? Might be easier to track if you're simply interested in those parts. PM me or leave a review letting me know, thanks!<p>

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><p>The fledgling's wings are shaking and his breathing is getting heavy and restless, shifting in his seat as he tries his best not to snap the pencil between his white-knuckled grip. It's getting hard to breathe, and the air is stifling and he wants more than anything to ask the teacher to open the window, let him out – let him fly, goddamnit, please, he'd do anything to get the wind underneath him and push up and up and up until the air was finally cold enough, the oxygen thin enough, to cool him down so that he could fall again.<p>

Dean frowns, wings fanning the air lightly when he scents the unusual sweetness permeating his classroom. Turning around, it's not hard to find the source. Not everyone is looking at the teenager – a lot of them are trying _not _to look at him – but there's a flush high on his cheeks and his eyes look wild and Dean knows that Adam is going into heat.

He sighs, setting his marker on his desk, and tells the class to talk amongst themselves for a moment.

"Mister Milligan," he says, pale blue eyes snapping to his, wide and dilated and the air reeks of fear and need. "Come with me outside, please."

The fledgling looks like he can't decide between sagging to the floor in relief or jump up out of his seat and race to obey, to get out of the classroom before he gets jumped or mounts someone. There are plenty of dominant Angels in Dean Winchester's class, and both Dean and Adam know it would have only been a matter of time.

Dean had been teaching at this school for almost three years – and at this age, occurrences like this were not uncommon. Seventeen was the most common age for Angels to go into their first heats and this fledgling was giving classic symptoms.

"Mister Winchester, I -."

"Shh," Dean replies, smiling gently as he rests a hand on the back of the young Angel's neck, keeping his grounded and frozen still as he slid his cell phone out of his pocket and dialed the number of the school's on-site Angel physician. "Nurse Milton is gonna be here in just a minute, we'll get you some suppressants and -."

"_Mister Winchester," _Adam says again, urgency burning in his voice and Dean takes a moment while the phone rings to pay attention to the panting, trembling fledgling's panicked expression. "I'm already on them."

Dean pauses at that, right as Anna decides to pick up the phone. Well, shit. "Anna," he says, responding to the third time the redheaded woman irritably answers with an impatient 'Hello?'. "I've got Adam Milligan here, says he's on suppressants but he's going through the early signs of heat." A pause. "Maybe stage two, early three. I think we maybe have half an hour before it hits fully." Another pause, Adam's skin feels like it's trying to crawl away from his body, Mister Winchester's hand cool and gentle against the back of his neck the only thing keeping him sane. "Alright, we'll be right there."

Then, that hand tightens and Adam feels like his knees are about to buckle. "Come on, Adam," Dean says, dropping the formal teacher tone and allowing the fledgling to lean on him for support – first heats hit hard and if it could be arranged, it was better for another submissive Angel to be around them, keep their heads clear and lessen the effect of a dominant's mating pheromones. One of the reasons Dean had decided to teach kids this age, so that he could be useful in situations like this, when Adam's wings were flattened over his and his mating oil seeped into Dean's clothes – he could keep his head level and clear while a dominant might not be able to resist the alluring call of a fertile young Angel.

"Where – where are we going?" he asks, and Dean has to smile, proud of him for being able to keep his power of speech, even if the words are slurring a little and he's stumbling and leaning on Dean more than what really should be necessary.

The older Angel strokes a hand through Adam's hair. "Somewhere cold," he replies, and Adam breathes out a sigh of relief, and Dean has just enough time to think 'Thank God' that his own suppressants and birth control were still working strong, because he remembers his first few heats and god, they were no fucking picnic.

He pushes open the door to Anna's office, and the pretty human woman takes one look at Adam before her eyes go wide. "Sit him down," she says, already picking up the phone. "We need to get him to a hospital."

* * *

><p>"Mister Winchester, if I didn't know better I'd have thought you lived here permanently now."<p>

Dean turns at the familiar voice, his mouth cracking a warm smile as he meets the gaze of Doctor Novak. "It's that time of year, I guess," he replies with a shrug, but it is true – Dean's been at the hospital with no fewer than six students over the past two months, a high number if there ever was one, but that can only be a good thing – more submissive Angels mean greater numbers for their population and Heaven knows Angels are scarce enough as it is.

Adam's symptoms had gotten worse on the ride to the hospital, his system trying to flush out the suppressants in the forced heat, and whatever he was on was reacting badly to his pheromones, causing an almost allergic reaction that had landed him in the ICU – Castiel's turf.

The Doctor smiles sympathetically towards the young Angel curled up tight in his blankets, sweating through a fever, IV drips attached to the inside of his arm to keep him hydrated because he's soaking through the bed and Dean knows he's far from in the clear.

Dean had agreed to stay with Adam until his parents arrived, and he and Castiel are standing behind a glass observation panel, Adam alone in the room beyond because any dominant Angel getting a whiff of that would potentially compromise other patients' health and the Doctors' concentration.

Castiel sighs, then, picking up Adam's clipboard and flicking through the two or three lines of notes written down. "So he told you he was on suppressants?" he asks, and Dean nods, wings fanning the air in concern for the young Angel. To find one's True Mate so young, someone strong enough to override the natural protectors given by medicine and science to submissive Angels to stop them going into unwanted heats, well, it was a blessing, but Adam hadn't even graduated yet and, in Dean's opinion, it was far too early to start thinking about having children and mating himself for life. "We need to track this mate of his down, then, before his symptoms worsen."

Dean blinks at that. "They'll get _worse?_" he asks, looking at Castiel.

The Doctor nods, biting his lip. "Unfortunately, if they've already had sex, then Adam's body will only be satisfied by his True Mate's body. If they haven't, then after a few days his heat should go away." The Doctor shrugs and Dean can see the helplessness in the set of his large, dark, arching wings. "It's a waiting game, I'm afraid."

Dean's fingers curl into his palm, a loud breath escaping him. "So -." But he doesn't manage to finish his sentence, because behind them there is a loud thumping sound, followed by a crash, loud enough that even Castiel and Dean can hear, and they frown, turning to see the source of the sound. Castiel leads the way out of the observation room and Dean is close behind.

"Where is he?" They can hear someone shouting, loud and panicked and strained. "Where is he!"

There's a scuffle going on – someone's called security already, and there's a large human man trying to wrestle a young dominant Angel to the ground – the Angel is hissing, eyes flattened and blackened out in anger and desperation, his wings puffed out in a threat display and arched high in anger, he's already landed a punch to the man's face, blooming out dark and purple.

The Angel himself can't be much older than eighteen – he's tanned, eyes a thin ring of green-hazel-maybe-blue around the edges of his dark, wide pupils, hair a mess of black and dark brown meshed together, wings to match with lighter blonde highlights on the underside.

Dean's eyes widen when he breathes deep, and he reaches a hand out, instinctively clamping down around Castiel's forearm because, somehow, he could feel the dominant Angel physician getting ready to help mitigate the fight.

The Angel reeks of Adam's oil.

He must smell Dean at the same time Dean smells him, because abruptly he stops fighting, breathing hard and deep through his open mouth, and his eyes flash up, narrowing on Dean's figure with almost startling clarity considering how wild they are. "You," he murmurs, jerking his arm away from the human officer with a low grunt and the man lets him go at a nod from Castiel, watching the youth warily. "You…_where is he?_"

"Are you looking for Adam?" Castiel answers for Dean, taking a step forward, one of his wings very subtly extending in front of the younger Angel and Dean, if he were the type to notice that sort of thing, would flush at the obvious display of protection and territorial posturing Castiel is doing, just with that one gesture. "Are you his mate?"

"I tracked him down," the Angel replies, voice a low growl. Tension is building in him again but Castiel seems just as cool and calm as ever. "I'd track him down anywhere."

A ghost of a smile flits across Castiel's face. "What's your name?" he asks.

"Michael," the fledgling replies tersely, his fingers flexing by his sides. Clearly the scent of his mate's pheromones is barely keeping him calm – he'll go crazy as soon as he sees Adam, Dean knows. They both will – they'll throw each other down and mate until Adam's heat has finally subsided, probably with a baby already, and Adam will have to drop out of school and raise his family with this kid he might hardly know and -.

"Cas," Dean whispers, drawing the Doctor's attention to him, and he hopes Castiel can read everything Dena's trying to say in his face, because they _can't_ let Adam and Michael be together right now. Not without making sure they have protection or at least consent. But Adam can't rightly consent like this, not with the desperation in his body screwing up his thought processes.

Hell, Adam might not even want kids, or heats, or anything. Michael might be a fling to him. Unbidden Dean feels himself edging back towards the door, making himself a barrier because he has to protect this kid from making a stupid, rash decision in the middle of mating hell and possibly making a hell of a lot more because of it.

Castiel's brow is furrowed in thought, drawing in his lower lip and chewing on it and Dean feels himself go tense when his wings droop in resignation. "Michael," he says, voice placating and very even and Dean knows he's about to suggest something that neither of them will like. "Adam is very sick right now – the suppressants he was on to stop his mating pheromones have been overridden, and they are reacting to his body's natural hormones and making him very sick. Until we manage to flush them out, you will not be able to lay with him."

Michael's eyes widen in horror, as if shocked that Castiel would suggest such a thing. "I'm not here for _sex_," he spits the word, growling low. "He's my _mate _and he's in the _hospital _and I need to make sure he's okay. If he's sick I want to be here."

"I understand that, but -."

"Are you mated, Doctor?" Michael asks, forcing Castiel to stop.

The older Angel's wings shift, imperceptibly, before relaxing behind him. "No," he says.

"Then don't tell me you understand," Michael hisses in reply. "Let me see him. Tell him I'm here. _Please_."

After a moment, the Doctor subsides, because Adam's parents have finally arrived and Dean can hear them calling for their son as well, and he might be able to hold off one young Angel but not three who all have legal rights to him. "Very well," he says, stepping back and forcing Dean to one side with one push and a meaningful look. "You may all come to the observation room where I will explain his symptoms and the course of treatment, but you are not allowed to enter his room or attempt to interact with him until I say so, is that understood?"

* * *

><p>Castiel finds Dean in the cafeteria about an hour later, nursing a cup of filter coffee with at least five open sugar packets beside it, absently poking at the remains of one of the cafeteria's surprisingly good hamburgers, bun and sad salad all that remained.<p>

The younger Angel looks up at the Doctor's approach, concern immediately shadowing his face. "Is Adam alright?" he asks, fanning his wings in distress and anxiety over the thought of one of his students continuing to suffer, or taking a turn for the worst.

Castiel smiles, taking a seat opposite Dean when he senses the submissive Angel's receptiveness to him. "You know, it was kind of amazing, as soon as Michael and Adam's parents were sent back to wait outside, a nurse told Adam that Michael was here…his fever reduced dramatically within ten minutes, he was talking, responding to the steroids we were putting in him to flush out the suppressants…" Castiel shrugs, shaking his head in amazement and picking at the edges of Dean's burger bun. "It was really amazing to see. They're together now."

Dean frowns. "What?" he demands, wings tensing and brow furrowing in anger.

The Doctor's eyes land on him, steely and cold. "I understand your concerns, Mister Winchester," he says slowly, very evenly again like he had upstairs in the ICU. Then, Castiel's head tilts to one side. "What do you teach? In your school?"

"Mythology and Psych," Dean replies, blinking at the about-turn of the subject. "And I temp for shop classes sometimes."

"That's…an interesting skillset," Castiel says, looking down at his hands where they're resting on the table. "Why did you choose to teach those subjects?"

Dean blinks again, unsure where Castiel was going with this, but he sits back, deciding to humor the quirky older Doctor that he had seen so often because of so many of his students breaking into their first heat. "They're both electives," Dean replies. "The kids are there because they want to be there. So I want to teach them."

Castiel presses his lips together, and Dean's eyes narrow when he sees he's barely repressing a smile. "Adam and Michael wanted to be together," he says, raising an eyebrow. "Was it wrong of me to let them?"

"They're just _kids_, Cas!" Dean replies vehemently, a little more loudly than he'd intended, but the cafeteria is mostly deserted and after a brief glance around, he sees almost no one is paying attention to his outburst. "What if Adam gets pregnant, or it turns out Michael was a fluke? What then?"

Castiel sits back, cocking his head to one side as he regards Dean, with enough intensity that it's making the younger Angel blush, dipping his eyes down almost coyly. He's not used to being looked at like that – like Castiel is trying to figure out if he'd rather listen to Dean talk or kiss him to shut him up.

Which is ridiculous. Dean is ninety-seven percent sure Castiel is straight, if the way the female Angel nurses always fawn over him like he's some kind of prized stallion. Whatever. Dean fans his wings through the air again, forcing himself to cool down at the traitorous thoughts.

"Have dinner with me," Castiel says, completely startling Dean and throwing him for a loop.

His eyes widen and he blinks at the Doctor. "What?"

"Have dinner with me," the older Angel repeats, smiling slyly at Dean's darkening blush. "I have to get back to work soon, but I have a feeling we'll have a lot to talk about later on."

Dean's fingers curl into the top of the cheap plastic table, and he can't raise his eyes. "Why not sooner?"

Castiel smiles. "You've always rushed back off to the school every time. These are the first two seconds I've had to ask you out." And Dean's pretty sure he's turned the same red as the tomato he discarded from the top of his burger – the same tomato that Castiel is now pinching from his plate and swallowing down.

He pushes himself to his feet and Dean follows suit without really knowing why, small smile on his face and red permanently tattooed into his cheeks. "I'll see you around, Mister Winchester," Castiel says, smiling wide like he's just won the lottery, and Dean bites his lower lip, ducking his eyes down, and nods.

"Yeah, Cas," he replies, rubbing the back of his neck, bite of his nails helping to center him. "See you around."


	38. Requiem

**Title:** Requiem  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>PairingsCharacters: **Dean/Castiel  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Non-Hunter!AU.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> angels are known, ugh it's kinda dub-con and SUPER religious-y I don't know what happened.  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~2,000  
><strong>Summary:<strong> It was here, in a crowded bar some distance of miles between fifty and seventy from the nearest suburban habitat, that Dean Winchester's life was lifted up and dropped unceremoniously, upside down, on its head.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. Someone wanted Xmas PWP and I don't know what happened but yeah this happened and I'm just I'm so sorry.

* * *

><p>It was here, in a crowded bar some distance of miles between fifty and seventy from the nearest suburban habitat, that Dean Winchester's life was lifted up and dropped unceremoniously, upside down, on its head. Possibly breaking its spine – and a few other things, for that matter.<p>

It was stupid Sam's puppy eyes and everything that came down to it. _Come on, man_, he'd said, _it's Christmas Eve, _he'd said, all lower lip jutting out and big eyes wide. Had always been the same way since Sam had settled down with the love of his life, leaving Dean flying free in bachelor Purgatory. _Who knows, you might even meet an Angel._

An Angel. Dean's weakness, and Sam, the little shit, knew it too.

It wasn't a _huge_ deal – certainly not one that warranted capital letters or anything. Dean just…he liked wings. He liked the power in Angels, and maybe he had a _thing_ for their entire species as a whole. Whatever. It wasn't uncommon for humans and Angels to get it on, anyway.

And Christmas was the time of year they were out in full flux – hundreds of them, everywhere, littering cities and bars and towns and pretty much any and all holes in the walls and rest areas and just – they were everywhere, descending down upon Earth like the stories of old to mingle with humankind and remind them that, yes, God was with them. But only the mated ones stuck around for long.

So that was how Dean Winchester found himself in a crowded bar, fifty to seventy miles from the suburb where Sam had firmly planted roots, nursing a beer and keeping his mouth firmly shut as his brother pointed out each and every Angel that crossed their paths.

"Look at her – she's cute! Her wings are a really pretty color – is red that rare?" And Dean grimaced, because it wasn't _just _about the wings – but he wasn't going to wax poetic about his kinks to his little brother, thank you very much, no sir-ee. And it _certainly_ wasn't about the, ah, parts either.

Dean wondered whether Sam was that obtuse, was ignoring it, or just didn't even realize that Dean's eyes were straying, hungry for something more…well, more.

And it was between one blink and the next that Dean found himself being stared at in return. There was an Angel standing close to the bar, wings the color of the night sky outside fanned out low to his sides – relaxed, but showy too. Dean swallowed, mouth dry, beer forgotten, as his eyes strayed up. The Angel's eyes were glowing, as they always did when confronted with the garish light of human bulbs, flashing like cat's eyes, clear and bright as a cloudless summer sky. Dean could taste the crisp air, smell the freshly mown grass.

As Dean watched, the Angel tilted his head to one side, small smile curling at his mouth as he turned, raised a bottle to his lips, swallowed one long draught of whatever-the-hell he was drinking, and Dean swallowed in mimicry, licking his lips and found himself almost confused that he couldn't taste the drink himself.

The air felt like an electric current against his skin, his fingers tightening, nerves stretched.

"Sam," he whispered, pushing himself to his feet and cutting off his brother's constant commentary on the female Angels surrounding them. "Go home." And he could _hear _the smug little bastard's smile when he clapped his hand down, squeezing tight, and released to follow the pull of the Angel's eyes. He felt like a fish caught on a line, knew this was part of the Angel's allure – their Thrall, their Grace, almost like a drug to humans – knew but didn't care.

"You have beautiful eyes," the Angel said by way of introduction, setting his drink down and straightening at Dean's approach, smiling wide, toothy, like a cat post-canary.

Dean felt like his very spine had melted, heat licking up the back of his neck, curling in his toes and between his legs. The Angel's voice was like the drag of nails down his back, the screaming demand of _more, now, give it to me. _"So do you," he replied, voice weak, shaking.

Full lips quirked up higher, head tilting the other way, and the Angel's wings snapped out, fanning the air. The scent of summer grass and honey was almost suffocating. "Castiel," he said, holding out a hand.

"Dean," came the reply, taking it.

No sooner had their fingers curled around each other's hands, then Castiel was yanking Dean forward, wings flaring out to firmly ensconce the human in the thick warmth of his feathers, and Dean had the fleeting empathy with a fly caught in amber, before strong, demanding fingers were knotting in his hair, forcing his head down, and a mouth clashed into his, biting at his lower lip, forcing his mouth open.

If his spine had melted before, his knees had now. He knew that had he not been held so tightly within Castiel's wings, he may have fallen.

"Come with me," came the harsh, gasping demand, gravel-whiskey in his ear, shivering down his spine like electricity.

He knotted his fingers in thin, soft fabric – a plain t-shirt – hooked through belt loops on Castiel's jeans. "Yes," he hissed out, arousal blinding him, tainting the world red around the edges and burning in the middle of the same color as the Angel's eyes.

How they traveled, Dean couldn't say – perhaps the Angel flew them, perhaps they walked or stumbled or Dean simply fell to his knees right then and there – he would have believed anything he was told. Blood was pounding in his skull, thick behind his eyes, a gunshot's recoil in his chest, and he pressed his mouth to the closest piece of skin he could reach, sucking, licking, biting, desperate to drink down any and all of the Angel's essence, take it into himself. His body burned with the desire to know of Grace.

Castiel closed his eyes, breathing deep the scent of lust and light pouring out of the man – such a bright soul, greyed-out with loneliness. How he had brightened upon seeing Castiel; the love and light in this man, yes, the Angel wanted – _needed _– to know of him. To share with him and bond and the strength of their God, to mate him and mark him as one of their own.

"On your knees," he ground out, almost shocked at how quickly he was obeyed; the human – _Dean_ – dropped into the pose of worship with such grace and eagerness, as though he had been doing it all his life; adoration and need felt with such force as though it was piercing Castiel, tearing at his wings, forcing him down, to fall, to fight.

He laid his body over Dean's, pushing him down onto his back, wings flared high in domination over the human soul. His Grace was glowing, burning behind his eyes, tainting the inside of his mouth when he kissed Dean, let some of his light into the human's mouth to be sure he would be well-received, would not hurt Dean in this process.

The taste of Grace – warmth and fruit and fresh outside air – made Dean shudder, entire body surging with pleasure and need, fingers grasping greedily at Castiel's hair, and his clothes, though he dared not touch the Angel's wings – he had not been given permission, and would not touch such holy, beautiful things without being told he could.

"_Cas_." It sprang unbidden from his mouth, swallowed down by the Angel as Castiel ripped at their clothes, fell between the human's legs that spread so easily and welcoming to him – another gesture of worship, of love, and it made Castiel smile.

"Hush, Dean," he whispered, kissing again at the human's open, panting mouth, freeing himself from his clothes to let Dean feel him – feel the need he conjured in the Angel, the love bestowed upon his own body in return for his askance. He pressed his mouth flush to the human's reddened chest, curling his hands underneath Dean's back, lining himself up.

Dean went tense. "We need -." But his words were cut off in a sharp cry, as Castiel thrust forward, flesh spearing and spreading him wide open without hesitance or gentleness.

The Angel's words were a benediction; an order. "You will feel no pain," he whispered, and there was no pain, nothing but strength and awe and power in this union, and though Dean was tense, instinct telling him to expect and fear the pain, Castiel kissed at him again, mouth pressed flush to neck and chest and mouth until Dean relaxed, softened in his arms, was pliant and receptive to the Grace of God. "Dean."

Grassy eyes, glazed and blinking open, focused on the cat-like glow of the Angel's own, and Castiel smiled. "Receive," he whispered, power vibrating through his voice, and he pulled out from the warm welcome of Dean's body, thrusting back in hard enough that the human cried out again – loud, uninhibited – as Castiel bent over his body, wings drawing in, tense and trembling, and set up a rhythm that had Dean's back scratching against the hardwood floor.

Dean's fingers dug in hard to Castiel's shoulders, legs coming up, bracketing him tight – caging him in, locking down, desperate, needing, and the Angel closed his eyes. Soon. Yes, soon he would be ready, could receive.

"Cas." The name, the gasp, breathless plea, had the Angel stilling, stuttering, nails ripping into the skin of Dean's back. "Cas, _please_."

_Yes._

The Angel's wings flared up high, Grace glowing in the tips of each and every feather, before he flung them down again, wrapping them tight around Dean's body, tucking them under, and Dean yelled out as though he was being burned, and Castiel's fingers ripped three lines on either side of Dean's spine, opening his back.

Pain tainted the air the color of blood and the color of God's royalty, and Castiel sealed his mouth over Dean's, parted in a wordless cry of agony and despair like He had known, Grace flowing out of him as his body stilled and stuttered itself deep into Dean's body, hilted tight, sharp hipbones pressed flush as he emptied himself into the human, pouring out everything that he had so that Dean could feel the love and adoration in an Angel's being.

Dean screamed again when it was done, and when Castiel withdrew, his wings still wrapped tight around the human to shield him, warm and gentle hands stroking through sweat-slicked hair as Dean writhed and shook in his arms.

He screamed, and he kept on screaming, crying out for God and for his brother and for anyone that might listen, and the Angel closed his eyes, lips pressing tight when the name 'Castiel' spilled from the man's open mouth, tasting of tears and blood from biting the inside of his mouth.

When it was finished, Castiel breathed a sigh of relief, opening eyes that glowed dimly and pulling back to look upon Dean. Dean's eyes were closed, his breathing shallow and rapid – he had passed out from the pain, sweat slicking his hair, what remained of his clothes darkened and slick against him.

The Angel smiled, reaching out, and lightly touching the fledgling wings sprouting from Dean's back. They had grown through the cuts Castiel had ripped, two of them the color of sunlight through autumn leaves, brown and red and gold and tainted with purple-blue on the underside. The color of the Lord, of God, and Castiel's smile grew; Dean was truly blessed, to be marked so by God.

Eyelids fluttered, and Castiel clutched Dean close, pressing a kiss to his forehead, twin Graces, half of Castiel flowing through each of them and allowing Dean to rest, to recuperate fully before opening his eyes to the new, loving embrace of this life – a life full of siblings and a loving God and father, a life where he could be herald to both men and Angels, and Castiel could take care of him all of their lives.

"Pater," he whispered, resting his forehead against Dean's, combing a hand through the shaking wings of his new friend and Brother and mate, "ad angelus, requiem." And his wings curled around them both, shielding them from sight to whoever may enter this place after them. He would wait until Dean woke up before moving them again.

He would be here, ever watchful, for the birth of the newest Angel.


	39. Bare Your Throat And Have Me

**Title: **Bare Your Throat and Have Me  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Pairing(s): <strong>Dean/Castiel**  
>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count:<strong> ~5,000**  
>Warnings:<strong> alpha/omega, knotting, bottoming-from-the-top, heat!fic  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Castiel and Dean have only been mated for a few months, but Dean knows how this goes by now.  
><strong>Notes: <strong>Since I'm so pissed off with myself about my NaNo I'm writing this. So, yeah. Never tried bottoming-from-the-top so I thought I'd take a stab at it. It's unbeta'd, so sorry for any mistakes. Enjoy!

* * *

><p>Castiel's hands were shaking. He noticed this about a second after the scent of his mate hit his nose – musky and warm, smelling of sweat and the Alpha pheromones that were so potent they made the other wolf almost sick with them.<p>

He snarled, baring teeth that were lined with dry, old blood, and curled his nails into his palms, letting their bite center and ground him.

Dean was in their den, nestled amongst the large pile of furs that served as their bed, face buried in the flank of a deer, a bearskin thrown over his back and covering most of his body. His cheeks were sleep-warm, flushed in the dank heat of their den, his fingers flexing in the furs as he dreamed – Castiel knew that already his own pheromones would start to affect his mate, even in his sleep, and would wake Dean soon. First, though, he had to wash his mouth out to rid himself of the taste of another wolf's blood – one that had decided the in-heat Omega was easy pickings, would flatten his belly to the floor and tuck his tail in tight between his legs in submission.

The Omega wolf looked up from the small pool of water that could gather in their den when it rained at the sound of his Alpha stirring, breathing in deep the scent that felt like it was rolling off of Castiel now, swamping the den and reeking of mating pheromones. He turned around, found bright, glowing green eyes staring right back at him, the Alpha already licking his lips, nostrils flared wide as he scented the air.

When their eyes met, Dean let out a soft little sound that was more a whimper than anything else. "Oh," he said.

Castiel's mouth twisted into a sharp, predatory smile. "Afternoon, sleepyhead," he murmured by way of reply, straightening up and letting Dean's eyes roam over his naked body. The gleam in Dean's eyes was getting brighter, Alpha in him barely held back as his nails dug into the furs he had burrowed into, pulling tight, stretching them out, and Dean licked his lips again, barely restrained lust in his eyes. Castiel cocked his head to one side, expression neutral. "Something on your mind?"

A low growl, then, rumbling and sending a shiver up Castiel's spine. Something hard-wired in him from birth shook at the dominant Alpha command, but the rest of him fought it back, bared his own teeth in a snarl of defiance. "Come here, Cas," Dean said, his voice low and so enticing, so tempting.

But… "No," the Omega bit out in reply, his grin wide at Dean's dark look. "Maybe I don't want to."

"Cas." His name was not a command, then, but a plea; a breathless whine that Castiel was used to hearing from wolves that did not possess the strength and power inherent in Alphas – that he could bring such an Alpha down, especially one as strong and in-control _as_ Dean – was a thrill of its own.

It brought him to a halt, made him tilt his head back towards his Alpha, his mate, and the demand in Dean was gone, now – he was panting, Alpha brain hard-wired to try and soak up mating pheromones through his mouth and his nose, submission written into the slope of his shoulders, want evident in the way his fingers were still gripping so hard against the furs.

"What is it, beautiful?" Castiel replied, his voice softening unintentionally, pleased and proud of the naked desire in Dean's eyes, admiring the way his Alpha obviously shook with the instinctual desire to leap from his bed, bend Castiel over and fuck him until he couldn't walk, and yet held himself back, knowing that that was neither his place nor his right as Castiel's mate. The Omega rewarded Dean's restraint by approaching their bed, the hopeful and thankful light in Dean's eyes making the small part of him that lived for pleasing his Alpha rejoice.

Dean's skin was warm to the touch, he felt like he was burning up hotter than Castiel was, shaking fingertips pressing a little too tightly to the Alpha's warm, flushed skin, and Dean tilted his head under the touch, baring more of his throat to Castiel and the Omega wolf shook with fierce, violent pleasure. "Good," he rasped, could feel his vision sharpening, pupils getting larger, slick leaking from him like he was a Goddamn teenager again, "good boy."

He could hear Dean swallow, their den too hot and oppressively quiet, and the Alpha finally ducked his eyes down, breaking gazes with Castiel, full submission in every line of him as though he was the one begging for the Omega wolf, like it shouldn't be the other way around, and it made Castiel's fingers tighten on the back of his neck, low growl rumbling out of him because he was so damn proud of Dean, begging for it like an Alpha should.

"Look at me," he demanded, words a harsh growl that sent a shiver down Dean's spine, and the Alpha swallowed again, licking his lips to wet his mouth, gazed up at his Omega mate under the shelter of his lashes. Castiel's eyes felt like a brand on his skin, claiming and searing and so damn good, so _unbelievably_ good, promising all kinds of rewards if Dean could just obey.

When their eyes met again, Castiel felt another sharp lick of heat race up his spine, his body demanding he satisfy his instincts and mate, fuck his Alpha until he was dripping with seed and his body's urges were satisfied. Took everything he had not to bend over and beg for Dean right there – but he had pride and, damn it, he was the one in control here, not the Alpha.

"Get up," he barked out, letting Dean's face go and rising to his feet, and Dean hastened to obey, throwing the furs off of his body and rolling so he was upright. The Omega watched dispassionately as the Alpha put himself on all fours, then up onto his knees. It was then, for a moment, that Dean seemed like he was going to get to his feet, but he froze, eyes flashing up to Castiel's, and then settled back down on his knees, licking his lips again, like a dog waiting to be praised for doing something good.

And Castiel couldn't help but smile, reaching forward to brush some of Dean's sweaty hair from his face. It was sticking up all over, sleep-mussed and soft and he just looked so damn gorgeous, Castiel had no idea how he did it. The Omega stepped forward and the Alpha's eyes roamed over him again, naked lust making his pupils go wide and dark, clenched fists pressed tight to his thighs, but he didn't move, didn't shy away from his Omega's dominant pull or the insistent tug of Castiel's hands as they brought Dean's mouth to his cock.

They hadn't been mated for long, but Dean knew how this game went.

He sucked Castiel down like he had been running for days and his Omega was the first source of water. His fingers flexed by his sides, wanting so badly to touch his mate, to taste him, to lay him out against their bed and slowly take him apart, but that was the Alpha instinct, and Dean knew Castiel would not be cowed or dominated just because Dean had a knot and Castiel had a body to take it.

The Omega growled softly in pleasure as he sank into the warmth of Dean's mouth, the Alpha wrapping his lips tight around Castiel and sucking him down like it was the greatest thing he had ever done. He could smell Dean's pheromones, sticking to him like a second skin and knew his own must be driving Dean crazy, but there was no hesitance or stutter in the way Dean tilted his head, throat working to swallow as much of Castiel as he could, Castiel letting him set the pace for now as he closed his eyes, tilted his head back and let Dean work him closer and closer to orgasm.

His eyes flew open again when, not a few minutes later, he felt Dean's hands close around his thighs, nails digging in tight, and with a snarl he pulled out of Dean's mouth, throwing the other wolf away from him. Because of the way Dean was clinging to him, they both went rolling, and Castiel ended up straddling his mate, finally winning the victory when he pressed a harsh, demanding hand against Dean's throat, forcing the Alpha's head back.

His snarl was loud, aggressive, and he could feel Dean shaking beneath him, Alpha instincts fighting against his mate being so dominant with him, and Dean was swallowing hard, clearly trying to get control of himself again, soft whine spilling from his lips when their eyes finally locked.

"Sorry – Sorry, Cas," the Alpha wolf whispered, soft and ashamed, but Castiel could feel Dean's cock between his legs, burning hot and eager and it made him snarl more, pressing with more insistence against Dean's throat. "Cas, please."

"You shouldn't have done that, Dean," Castiel hissed, baring his teeth at his Alpha, fingers of his free hand curling and digging into Dean's chest, making the younger wolf whine, body tensing from the pain. "You should know better by now."

He was trembling, the touch of his Alpha sending sparks right through his brain and to his cock, Heat-triggered pheromones saturating the air around them now, and Castiel felt like he was going to explode if he didn't fuck, knot, get tied together, _tied down_, knot, fuck, _in, please, Alpha…_

"I'm sorry, Cas, I'm sorry," Dean said again, his voice shaking, Adam's apple pressed tight to Castiel's sweaty palm, as he frantically searched out the eyes of his Omega, found them cold and black, teeth bared in a snarl. "Please. I'm so sorry, Cas, I didn't – I."

"Fuckin' Alphas," the Omega spat, fingers flexing. He felt like he was losing control, every second he spent like this, so close to Dean, was leaving him trembling and he needed, so badly – the Heat was hitting, now, and it was hitting him hard. Hadn't felt like this since he was unmated, remembered having to fight Alphas off, sometimes from all sides it had felt like, and his body was tensing as though preparing for another fight.

But Dean just lay there, his head tilted back, throat exposed like Castiel knew from experience that Dean never did for another Alpha, or anyone else in their pack. Just for him.

Slowly, waiting for the punch line, Castiel relaxed his tightening grip from around his mate's throat, but still Dean didn't move. His body was trembling between Castiel's legs, the Omega could feel it, but submission was written into every line of him, his scent reeked of it – of apology, of a plea for forgiveness. Unable to help himself, Castiel bent forward, pressing his mouth against his mate's throat, scenting him, the Alpha pheromones that Dean was trying so hard to fight down, the animal rolling underneath his skin.

"Dean," he whispered, just the name was enough to have his Alpha shuddering, precome spilling, hot and slick, between Castiel's legs and the Omega trembled at the scent of it. "Dean," he said again, flattening his hand against Dean's hair, stroking back until his fingers could curl and knot in it, making the other wolf bite back a low sound of pain. "What do you want?"

The answer was immediate, without hesitation; "To make you feel good, Cas, to please you."

Castiel's smile was sharp at the edges, his blood singing off the high of having an Alpha beg to please him. "And how do you propose you do that when you can't even keep your hands to yourself?" he asked, making Dean swallow and lick his lips again. God, this was killing him. But Dean needed to understand.

Immediately Dean's hands flattened to the ground, up by his head for Castiel to see. "I can," he vowed, sounding earnest and desperate, thighs tensing under Castiel as the instinct to fuck and mate was starting to get to him. "Cas, I promise I can, please, please let me, let me…"

"Hush, beloved," the Omega wolf whispered, tilting his mouth to kiss at Dean's jaw, at the pulled tendon in his neck, moving to his open, gasping mouth. His eyes closed and he let their lips meet – chaste, light, and pure because he knew as soon as both of them succumbed to their mating urges it would get real rough, real fast.

Dean's fingers curled in tight to themselves by his head, wanting so desperately to touch his mate, to love him, to shove him down and bite his neck and fuck him until he was screaming, but he couldn't – Castiel was his Alpha as much as Dean had the knot, and Dean knew that, and he loved Cas for that. Being one of the more powerful Alphas came with a lot of responsibility and Dean was glad he had a mate who could not only handle himself, but gave Dean a run for his money in the dominance department.

"Cas, please," he whispered again, right before his Omega claimed his mouth once more, scenting Dean's Alpha pheromones as though he could drink them in through the Alpha's skin. "Please. Let me. Need -."

"Shh," Castiel said again, this time withdrawing, placing a finger to Dean's lips, his eyes cold and calculating, before he lifted himself off of where he had sat on Dean's torso, reaching back behind himself to wrap a warm hand around the Alpha's straining cock. Dean had to bite back a harsh sound of want when Castiel's fingers wrapped too tight, tips digging around his knot, taunting, pulling him onward. "Be quiet, now, Dean. I don't want to hear another word."

The Alpha pressed his lips together tight enough that the edges whited out, when Castiel closed his eyes, entire body going tense as he positioned Dean and allowed himself to sink back onto the Alpha's cock, slowly – agonizingly slowly – it filled him up, sank into the wet heat of the Omega's heat-slick body and made them both shudder.

Castiel's nails dug into Dean's chest – a warning – and though the Alpha shook with restraint he managed to stop himself bucking his hips up, slamming deep into his mate as fast he could. The Heat had hit them both incredibly hard and Dean's knot was already starting to swell, and he knew that if he forced it inside of Castiel before the Omega was done there would be Hell to pay.

He ached to beg Castiel – for more, for _something_, please, Cas, whatever you want – but the Omega's orders had been clear; Dean wasn't to speak until he was told to, and the nails on his chest served as a warning and a deterrent. He didn't know how long he could last but he was damn sure gonna try.

When Castiel began to move, Dean almost lost it altogether. He bit his lip bloody trying to keep his sounds in and his hands, unable to merely stay where they were, clutched at his head, he knotted his fingers in his own hair and tugged, desperate to try and obey Castiel's orders when everything in him that made him an Alpha was screaming to 'take' and 'fuck' and 'mine'.

He whined, softly, trying so hard to stifle the sound, and when Castiel raised his eyes and met the desperate stare of his mate, his mouth twisted into a hard smile. "What's the matter, beloved?" he asked, circling his hips once before rising off of Dean again, braced on Dean's chest and his knees so that the tip of Dean's cock was still inside of him, but he didn't move back down again and the Alpha was trembling.

Castiel cocked his head to one side, smiling, and reached forward, taking Dean's chin in hand, tilting his head up. "Come here, baby," he whispered, and Dean eagerly surged up, bracing himself back on his hands and coming to within an inch of kissing his mate, just barely holding himself back. Castiel's eyes felt like they were peeling Dean back, exposing his soul, everything that made up parts of him, like he was examining Dean under his clinical eye, and he leaned in for another kiss, this one just as chaste, and allowed himself to sink back down onto Dean, making the Alpha's eyelids flutter shut. Castiel could feel the swell of Dean's knot, pushed flush against his rim when he sank all the way down, knew Dean was itching to bury himself as deep as he could.

Not yet.

Not until Castiel was good and done.

He stayed like that, for a few minutes, just letting the feeling of Dean stretching him out soak into his skin, sate the burning in his body and clear his head, Dean's breath shaky and loud against his collarbone. His Alpha was so warm, burning up underneath his hands, and when Castiel rose up again, clenching tightly, the sound Dean let out was anything but dominant – low, helpless, desperate. It made the Omega growl in victory.

He slammed back down, head thrown back at the feeling of Dean's hard cock stretching him out. God_damn_it, it felt good to hilt himself with Dean, the Alpha's breath so warm and loud and he felt like he was burning, as though _he _was the one with the mad desire to fuck and breed flowing through his veins, clogging his head.

He shivered, shifting so his thighs clutched tight to the spurs of Dean's hips, rolling forward so that he could comfortably sit with the Alpha seated inside of him, Dean's lids fluttering, teeth sinking into his lower lip to try and stifle his sounds again, fingers flexing in an attempt to hold on. "You're doing so well, Dean," he bit out, fighting the urge to turn his words from praise to a desperate plea to be fucked and knotted – he was _not_ a bitch and he would not behave like one. The Alpha's bright, grassy-green eyes fluttered open, hardly any color left to them around the large pool of black, and Castiel smiled, leaning forward to slant their lips together.

Castiel could feel Dean shiver and twitch underneath him, the Alpha's hips barely rolling to shift himself within Castiel – enough that the blunt head of his cock brushed against the Omega's prostate, made him tense and shudder and bite hard into his Alpha's bottom lip.

_"Cas_," Dean whispered, voice wrecked, desperate-sounding as though the word had been punched out of him, even though he hadn't been allowed to speak.

Castiel could forgive him, though, petting a hand through his sweaty hair, eyes clenched tightly shut as he rocked again, to get that feeling, ground down as hard as he could just to feel the tease of pressure that was Dean's knot, toying at the fullness pushing against his rim.

God, he couldn't fucking wait.

He kissed Dean again, licking into the Alpha's slack mouth, tasting the warmth in him as he rocked again, building up a slow, maddening rhythm that satisfied neither of them. He heard a tear, laughed when he realized Dean must have clawed his way through the furs of their bed in an effort to keep himself restrained, stop himself touching the Omega.

"Dean," he whispered, pulling back and flattening a hand against his mate's cheek. Dean was doing so well, staying as still as Castiel suspected he physically could, letting the Omega wring his body for his own pleasure. The Alpha's eyes were hazy and dark when they locked onto Castiel's, and Dean sucked his lower lip into his mouth, and swallowed loudly as he licked his lips.

Castiel smiled, reaching out to grab one of Dean's hands, the Alpha silently allowing his Omega to direct his touch, until Castiel laid Dean's hand across his flank and allowed the fingers to tighten.

"Good boy," he whispered, rolling his hips again, hissing when it meant Dean's cock nudged against his prostate, thighs flexing around his mate's hips and Dean whined, softly, licking his lips again and leaning forward to bury his face in Castiel's collarbone. "Talk to me, baby," the Omega whispered, carding his hands through Dean's sweaty hair.

Dean let out a soft sound of want, dragging stubble-rough jaws against Castiel's chest, his hand tightening, pushing Castiel down as much as he dared, to get himself deeper, _harder_ in to the willing body of his Omega. How badly he wanted to roll them over, spread his mate apart and devote everything to his pleasure, but Castiel wouldn't let him and it was making him shake, the desire burning with his urge, his _need_ to knot and breed Castiel.

He closed his eyes, licking at Castiel's warm, sweaty skin, the taste of his Omega's heat-soaked body slowly driving him insane. "Cas," he whispered, voice rough and raw and was rewarded by a subtle rocking of the other wolf's hips, making him stutter and tense. "_Cas_, please, you feel so good – want to -." He choked off again, the Omega circling his hips, clenching down so tightly, suffocating him, he felt like he couldn't breathe. "Wanna make you feel good, Cas, please, please, let me -."

"Shh," came the reply, the Omega's voice soft and soothing against his ear, a light kiss pressed to his forehead as Castiel's hands shifted from Dean's head, pressed the Alpha wolf back down to their bed. Castiel was shaking hard, knew he wouldn't be able to hold on much longer, and he pressed his hand to Dean's throat again, forcing him to tilt his head back. "Dean. Dean, look at me." The Alpha was breathing hard, nostrils flared wide, eyes hazy and barely managing to focus on the Omega's face. "Tell me, baby, come on."

Dean let out a strangled, needy sound. "_Cas_." It was a broken name, a begging cry into the dank heat of their den, but Castiel would not be swayed – he tilted his chin up in defiance, eyes flashing, and let a low growl escaping him, demanding his answer.

_"Tell me, _Dean."

And it was important to him, Dean knew, knew if he could manage to put two words together that weren't _Cas_ and _please_. "Cas, let me, please, love you Cas, so much, let me make you – _please_, Cas, baby, let me -."

"Shh." Castiel smiled, then, his entire body relaxing, and he leaned down to silence Dean's ramblings, pressing their mouths together in a kiss that soon turned dirty and rough, the Omega finally allowing his mating instincts to overcome and slam through him like a tidal wave. He angled his body so that Dean slid out of him, the Alpha making a sound between a moan of loss and a snarl of impatience, and Castiel pressed a hand to the side of his face, kissing him again. "Have me, Alpha."

It was like those words made something snap in Dean – his eyes flared open, sharp and wide, and he surged up, able to roll Castiel and flatten himself over his mate in one smooth, almost practiced motion. Castiel only called him Alpha, in that sincere tone of his, when he was ready to let Dean out, let the younger wolf kiss and touch and please him the way both of their inner animals were demanding they did.

Castiel made to roll over, to put himself onto his hands and knees – it was the easiest position to be knotted in, since they could both settle on their sides without anyone laying on anything important – but Dean's hands flattened across his hips, keeping him down on his back, the Alpha flashing him a warm, mischievous smile from where he knelt between the Omega's legs.

"I'm gonna make it up to you," Dean said, and Castiel could only think for a second on what Dean thought he needed to make up, before the Alpha's mouth was descending around his flushed, hard cock, making Castiel hiss in surprise and pleasure, hands flying to Dean's head, knotting in his hair as he threw his head back.

The Alpha sucked him as far down as he could, wrapping a warm hand around what he couldn't reach with his mouth, cheeks hollowing out as he sucked, and Castiel was gasping, hips thrusting up on instinct into the tight warmth of Dean's mouth, until he felt himself hit the back of his mate's throat and Dean was choking on him.

The Alpha pulled back, just enough that Castiel wasn't too far anymore, but he didn't move away – his eyes flashed up, heated and blackened, to the Omega's face, before he tilted his head and sank back down, his free hand flattened against Castiel's heaving stomach, tongue and teeth dragging up the underside and Castiel was _gone_. He snarled Dean's name, fingers clenching tight, thighs tensing around Dean's head as he came, entire being narrowed down to the feeling of his Alpha humming in pleasure as he swallowed down Castiel's seed, fingers curling up against his stomach, warm and grounding.

When Castiel came back down, he was breathless, boneless, and Dean was still licking at him, Omega pheromones plugging up his nose, making him shake and salivate with need as he pressed his nose against Castiel's skin, desperate to soak up and drink in his mate's slick, his scent, his entire body burning with the need to mix that scent with his own.

"Dean," Castiel sighed out, drawing his mate's attention, and Dean smiled, following the pull of Castiel's fingers to press his mouth against the Omega's bared neck, humming in satisfaction at the submission from his mate, no matter how brief and hard-earned it might be. "Come on, Alpha, do it."

There it was – the fight again. Castiel's soft moments were few and far between, and they never lasted long, and Dean smiled, nuzzling at his mate's throat for one more moment, while he still could, before he pulled back and allowed Castiel to roll onto his stomach, baring himself for the Alpha.

"So beautiful," Dean whispered, pressing the words to the sweaty line of Castiel's hair against the back of his neck, as he carefully braced himself so that most of his weight rested on one arm, his free hand lining himself up with his mate's opening, and he forced himself to wait until Castiel sighed again, relaxing underneath him to allow him in. "God, Cas, you drive me fuckin' crazy."

Castiel hummed, arching back into his mate's body, smiling wide and allowing himself to be immersed in the feeling of Dean's hands running along his flanks, up his arms, fingers lacing tight together, of Dean's mouth pressed against the back of his neck, not biting – steady, grounding. And when the Alpha began to fuck him in earnest, selfishly chasing his own orgasm, Castiel let him, eyes closed, mouth parting in a surprised, tense gasp when Dean forced his knot inside with a low grunt, and slowly Castiel felt his heat ebbing, knew Dean's seed was cooling him down, satisfying his body's need to mate for now.

Dean let out a low sound, then, pressing a kiss to Castiel's shoulder, before they fell onto their sides, the Alpha pulled at the ripped bear skin and throwing it over the both of them – now that the initial heat had cooled, they were both shivering, clinging to each other for warmth.

Dean huffed out a laugh against the back of Castiel's sweaty neck, kissing him again. "You got that outta your system?" he asked, earning a low grunt from his mate, Castiel shifting just a little to further bury himself in Dean's arms.

"I had a little help," the Omega replied gruffly, voice low and tense and angry.

Dean stilled for a moment. "Who was it?" he asked, knowing what Castiel meant – someone else had tried to get the drop on him, which would explain his initial fight and controlling behavior; even though Castiel was naturally dominant anyway, he always felt like he had to prove something when someone had given him trouble.

The Omega rolled his bright eyes. "No one of import anymore," he said simply, earning a low laugh from Dean – he'd see the bites on the other wolf anyway eventually, and his heart swelled with pride over his strong mate standing up for himself. He clutched Castiel tighter, burying his nose in the wolf's thick, dark hair and closed his eyes.

"Control freak," he muttered with affection.

"Knothead," came Castiel's retort, but Dean could tell he was smiling.

"I hope you ripped him apart."

A pause, then Castiel shifted again, turning so Dean was forced to pull back to look him in the eye. The wolf's eyes were gleaming, almost like an Alpha's – predatory and dark, and he smiled. Dean could see the glow of his own eyes reflected back. "Worried about me, Alpha?" Castiel asked, teasing, taunting, voice rough and dark.

"You?" Dean repeated, shaking his head and smiling wide, kissing Castiel lightly on the throat as the Omega wolf turned away from his again, unwilling to keep up the uncomfortable position for long. It would always send a shiver down his spine, how readily the strong wolf bared his neck to Dean's mouth. Would thrill him each and every day until he died. "Nah, sweetheart. Never."


	40. Take Care Of Him

**This is a Dean/Cas/Benny fic I was prompted on Tumblr and, yeah, here it is. It's not very good and not at all checked so I'm sorry for any mistakes. Today's been kind of a bad day so.**

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><p>It was Benny who ended up breaking their silence first, both of them gathered around what meager fire they dared light in the nighttime; "Why are we still huntin' this Angel of yours?" he asks, could tell he'd struck a nerve by the way his companion's shoulders go tense, his mouth tightening. "He clearly doesn't wanna be found."<p>

"That's because he doesn't know we're looking for him," Dean replies sullenly, poking at the fire and not meeting Benny's eyes. "I owe him this much. I dragged him here -."

"By killing the Leviathan."

"Well, yeah -."

"That he brought into the world."

Dean's glare settles on the vampire's face and he points the stick he had been using to rouse the fire accusingly in the vampire's direction. "You don't know shit about him, alright? Point is, I'm not leavin' here until I find the guy to drag his sorry ass back out, you get me?"

"Fine," Benny huffs, turning his back to Dean so that he can look into the large expanse of Purgatory's forests, keen eyes and ears on the lookout for anything creeping up on them. "We'll be trapped here forever."

He thinks Dean might just be ignoring him, because the silence between his words and the Hunter's reply stretches on for so long. "If that's what it takes," Dean replies after a long while, before he settles down to get his four hours of sleep, weapon lying close to his side, under his hand.

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><p>They find Castiel. Of course they do – Benny hasn't known Dean long, but he never doubted that the fool of a Hunter would rip through the entirety of Purgatory's forest to find the damned Angel. The familiarity between the two of them – he hadn't been expecting that, or the way that Dean touched the Angel – like he is something fragile, almost, incorporeal as the ever-present wind, like he'll disappear under Dean's touch.<p>

"Cas," Dean whispers, almost unable to believe his eyes as he wraps his arms around the Angel in a tight hug. Castiel feels stiff in his arms, perhaps unbelieving himself, maybe frozen in shock, but it doesn't matter – Dean presses his nose to Castiel's neck and inhales the dirt and the sweat and the ocean caked into Castiel's skin, and holds him tighter.

"Dean." After what seems like an eternity, Castiel is hugging him back, sagging into Dean's arms with a heavy sigh, his face fitting perfectly into the curve of Dean's neck, the human's warmth seeping through their clothes to warm Castiel from Purgatory's chill. "You shouldn't have looked for me."

"Yeah, well." And then they're pulling apart, putting distance between them again, and Dean's smiling so wide and Castiel can't look away from the light in his eyes – how often had he dreamed of searching Dean out, listening to his prayers at night and had to claw at his own ears to stop him hearing them? And here Dean was, despite all of Castiel's attempts to get away and hide. "Come on, Cas. There's a way out, and I'm not leavin' here without you."

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><p>Castiel is wary of the vampire's company. Dean seems set in the ridiculous notion that he can get all three of them out, and while Castiel knows that it can never and will never happen, he allows himself the selfish satisfaction of Dean's company – lets himself bask in the heat of Dean's leg pressed up against his, lets the Hunter's voice calm him and drown out the whispers of the Leviathan in the back of his head.<p>

When Dean is asleep and Castiel and Benny are keeping watch, the Angel sits on one side of the Hunter, the vampire on the other, wordlessly, though it makes Castiel's feathers bristle. "You know as well as I do that I'm not getting out of here," he says after hours of silence, laying out a hand to rest against Dean's shoulder and, for a moment, basking in the warm glow of his life and his soul.

The vampire shrugs one shoulder. "Angels don't have souls," he says by way of an answer.

Castiel nods to himself, pressing his lips together, fingers idly following the line of Dean's neck, knowing that Dean would wake up at that touch alone, and so he slips some of his soothing Grace into the touch, keeping Dean's dreams quiet and untroubled and his heartbeat slow. "You have to take care of him."

Benny scoffs. "I think he can do that on his own."

The Angel sighs, shaking his head. "That's not what I mean," he whispers, flattening his hand across Dean's cheek in the lightest touch before he withdraws with another heavy sigh. "You have to…"

He can't finish, doesn't even know where to start – the dumbness of his own tongue frustrates him, and instead he cuts off his sentence with a frustrated huff, moving his hand and his Grace away from Dean and letting the Hunter rest on, untouched by him or his influence. "I know you have already," he says instead, brow furrowing as he looks into the dead embers of the fire. "I can smell you on him."

"Lust is lust," Benny says with a small, sheepish shrug – even though he wasn't denying it, he knew marker territory when he saw it. Dean may as well be carrying a sign for all that the vampire knew he was property of the Angel's. "But what you guys got…"

Then, Dean is stirring awake, his four hours clearly up, and Castiel and Benny both fall silent. "I'll go find some more wood," Benny says instead, pushing himself to his feet and letting the groggy Hunter and his Angel have some alone time.

It's the least he can do, if what they all fear is true and only two of them are getting through the eye of the needle.

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><p>"<em>Cas.<em>"

He missed this. Missed the taste of Castiel's skin on his tongue, the sound of the Angel's breath – even and steady but somehow rougher, ragged and broken – against his neck. Dean sighs, letting his head fall back as rough and desperate fingers claw at his dirty, bloody, ripped jeans, almost ripping the clothes off except for where the Angel knows that it's Dean's only pair and he needs to be clothed to keep warm.

"Cas, _please, _I -." And it's like hearing Dean's prayers at night, a mantra of his name, begging for him to come back, come _home_, and Castiel cannot listen anymore – _I'm here, Dean, I'm right here. _He silences the Hunter with his own mouth, drags a hand through Dean's hair to remind him, let him know just how real and solid and _there _Castiel is, fallen into sin right along with him.

Dean's breathing is shaky, his heartbeat racing and Castiel needs him, needs him more than he thinks he can remember ever needing anything – _Cas, buddy, I need you. _And the feeling is so mutual as he falls between the Hunter's legs, tries to keep them on Dean's pallet because otherwise the cold will seep into Dean's bones and his wings can't keep them warm here.

He only bares enough skin that he needs – drags down the scrubs pants to expose his own need to the cold air and wraps his hand tight around it, sparing his Grace to conjure up lube because there is no way he would compromise Dean's comfort for his own sake.

Castiel pulls away from Dean's mouth to let him breathe – gasping, staring dazedly up at the star-filled sky hidden mostly by sun-greedy trees – and kisses him again, on the jaw, on his neck, underneath his ear where the skin is thin and sensitive, and he uses some more of his Grace to take away the feeling of pain and the uncomfortable stretch when he slides two fingers into Dean, adding a third quickly after. The urgency, and _need_, is building so fast, too fast for him to comprehend and he needs so badly he feels like he's going to die.

"Dean," he bites out, pressing his open mouth against the Hunter's bared throat, can feel Dean hiss at the scratch of stubble he's unaccustomed to having – wishes he had thought more to cut the hair as it grew, to feel the scratch of Dean's skin against his own he's sure would undo him. "Roll over."

"Not on your life," the Hunter growls in return, strong legs curling, fitting Castiel so perfectly between them as Dean's fingers dig in and hold fast. "Come on, Angel. Give it to me."

With a low, pained sound, Castiel cannot help but give in, give himself over to the desire to bury himself within Dean's body. He spreads his legs, thighs forcing Dean's hips up, and aligns himself, giving Dean one more thread of Grace to ease the ache as he pushes himself in as far as he can in one thrust.

_"Dean."_ It's so easy – too easy – to lose himself in the familiar rhythm again, the hazy mesh of their bodies pressed as tight together as they can through their clothes, Dean arching up for more, nails scratching faint lines down Castiel's back, biting back curses against each other's mouths. Dean's legs are wrapped tight around him, hooking at the small of his back, forcing him deeper, driving him in, and he feels lost, like he's sprinting as fast as he can to get somewhere. Sweat – a foreign sensation to him before Purgatory – is gathering at the base of his throat and in his hair and Dean is leaning up to lick it off, bite at his neck, drag him down _again_, until he's not even thrusting anymore but simply rutting as deep as he can into the willing body of his Hunter.

"Cas, _God, _fuck -." And it's impossible, but Dean's tightening up around him, his muscles clenching in the way that Castiel has become so familiar with over their time together – Dean is coming, violently, with a shout muffled against Castiel's shoulder as his legs tighten so much, suffocating, breaking Castiel as the Angel stutters to a halt, breathing out harshly through his nose and his fingers curl around the top of Dean's head, holding him, stroking him through it with a gentle touch to his hair until Dean finally relaxes, body loose and pliant and willing and Castiel is left to finish inside of Dean.

All too soon, it's over – the need has gone away for now, if not the ache, still burning like embers in the pit of Castiel's stomach, but he knows he cannot make things like this last anyway. He can hear Benny approaching them, and reluctantly he withdraws from Dean's warmth.

Or, at least, he tries to, but Dean doesn't let him go far. He's still got Castiel caged between his legs, his arms wrapped tight around the Angel's shoulders, this look on his face like he's not letting Castiel go without a fight. "Stay," he mutters, almost petulantly, and Castiel sighs, rolling his eyes like Dean's behavior exasperates him, belying the warmth in the pit of his stomach.

He acquiesces quietly, and Dean lets him pull his scrub pants back up as well as Dean's jeans, before the Angel lies down behind Dean, both of them sat up and braced against one of the large oak trees, facing the fire. His arm is wrapped tight around Dean's waist and his legs bracket Dean's body nicely, his body warm and solid against Dean's back.

When Benny comes back Dean almost makes to move, but Castiel's arm tightens without a word, and Dean couldn't move even if he tried now. When Dean turns his head to try and ask why, the Angel's eyes aren't on him, but on the vampire, and when he looks back it's to see Benny looking at the both of them with an unreadable expression on his face.

He swallows, feeling guilty for some reason, and cannot meet his friend's eyes. His gaze drops to the ground and his mouth has gone dry.

Castiel breaks the silence first; "Benny," he says, and Dean can hear the smile in his voice. "I meant what I said. Come here."

And then Dean's suddenly frozen, because the vampire _is _approaching, footsteps steady and soft until he's standing in front of Dean and Castiel, and all Dean can think about is the weight of Castiel's arm around his waist, holding him back and caging him in, and yeah, he and Benny have had a few rolls in the mud but it's not _like that_ and what if Castiel has read this wrong and what if -.

"Dean." The Angel's voice is low and soothing, snapping him out of his panicked thoughts. "It's okay." A sigh. "Benny is gonna take care of you."

And Benny's eyes flash to the Angel's. Castiel looks sad, but at peace, as though he has accepted this fact about the three of them – co-existing together, it probably won't happen. Either Castiel won't make it or they both will but Benny's a _vampire_ and he doesn't belong in a Hunter's world, or all three of them are going to die at the hands of the Leviathan, but it doesn't matter now, right now, it's just the three of them and their dead fire and Dean, warmth and life the only beacon of hope in this Godforsaken forest.

Castiel leans forward, bending Dean around his arm to fist his fingers into a lapel of the vampire's coat, pulling him in and down onto his knees in front of them, so close to Dean's face, and the Angel can hear Dean's breath hitch in readiness, in anticipation, but it is Benny who closes the distance between them, wraps a hand around the back of Dean's neck and forces Dean closer to his body, forces Castiel to let go to let them, Dean falling awkwardly onto his knees to try and compensate for the shift so that he can kiss back.

The vampire doesn't let him stay that way for long – too soon he's pushing Dean back again, rough growl reminding the Hunter that he's still an animal underneath the surface, could probably rip Dean's head from his shoulders with a single blow, just like Castiel can, and Dean, trapped between two powerful beings, can do nothing more than shudder under the onslaught, prey instinct tensing his shoulders while Castiel's Grace soothes the instinctual fear away.

The Angel keeps watch for them, when Benny hauls Dean to his feet only to flatten him out again on the pallet, close enough that Castiel can see and hear but not too far that he cannot warn them if something is coming. And he watches – plays guardian Angel to the two of them when Benny presses a hand against the back of Dean's neck, forcing his cries into the ground, and watches when Dean puts a hand under his body to finish himself the second time, eyes locked onto Castiel's, wide and wild and almost as much an animal as Benny is.

"You have to take care of him," Castiel insists again when they're all spent, Dean reeking of both of them and bearing marks on his throat and shoulders from both of their mouths, curled up against Castiel's side with Benny resting against his flank, guarding his back.

The vampire tilts his head, grinning crookedly up at Castiel, then down to where the Angel's fingers are gently stroking through Dean's dirty hair. "Y'ain't gotta worry about us, Angel," he says, and Castiel – tight-lipped, tense – nods, looking away. "But you gotta promise, alright, that you'll at least try. Stop lookin' for ways to sneak away from him. He won't let you go without a fight."

Castiel sighs heavily, mouth tilting upwards in a smile. "Yes. I know."


	41. Fledgling

**Title: **Fledgling  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Pairing(s): <strong>Dean/Castiel**  
>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count: ~5,200<br>Warnings:** vampires, blood drinking, violence  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Dean has been a vampire for a year and a half now, and while Castiel likes the idea of Dean staying by his side forever, he has bigger plans for Dean. Unfortunately, that means weaning the fledgling off of his blood, and Dean is strangely resistant to the idea.

**Notes: **Also, guys, there has been a request for this group of stories (Not to the Wasted, Ocean Spray and this one) to be moved to a separate story, like I did for the Snapshots. If you have a vote yay or nay (or don't mind either way), leave a review or PM me to let me know! Thank you!

* * *

><p>Although Castiel long ago gave up the need for sleep, he cannot deny there is a certain contentment one can find in lounging around on a bed, heart slowing, breaths coming longer and deeper. His companion's relative warmth is a pleasant sensation against his side, Dean's head nestled into his shoulder, and the fledgling's fingers are curled into a loose, relaxed fist against his chest. One of Castiel's hands is cradling Dean's, the other stroking through his Child's soft hair, nails catching against the nape of Dean's neck in a way he knows never fails to relax Dean.<p>

It has been a year and a half since Castiel changed Dean, since he finally sank his teeth into his own wrist and allowed the poison in his blood to wreak havoc in Dean's body, transforming and changing him into one of Castiel's own. Granted, Dean has belonged to Castiel well before that, but even so, the instinctual, animal part of him that makes him more monster than human thrives off the knowledge that Dean has given himself so willingly over, body and mind, to Castiel's dominion.

Castiel shifts in place, pushing so that he is sitting up against the headboard of his large, luxurious bed, and allows his eyes to drift over his Child's body. Dean doesn't stir, used to resting for long periods of time while Castiel would shift or speak over him, as he still does when Dean perches at his feet in the Meetings. Instead, the fledgling sighs, eyes still closed though Castiel doubts he is asleep – he, like Castiel, no longer needs it – and nuzzles against Castiel's thigh, settling again, his hand dragging down from Castiel's chest, arm thrown across the Alpha vampire's lap instead.

Dean really is beautiful – Castiel had known he would be when he first saw the boy, aged two, with his mother – but Dean really has excelled under Castiel's tutelage and care. His body is still young, lightly muscled, a softness around his face and throughout him that puts strangers at ease. His smile, Castiel is sure, could charm the sun from the sky.

Castiel smiles to himself, thinking about that, and reaches down to resume stroking the side of Dean's face. Dean leans into it, still with his eyes closed, but Castiel can see the corner of his mouth quirking up in response.

"Dean."

The fledgling's eyes flare open at the name, the unspoken command written into his Alpha's voice, and he stares straight out, licking his lips.

"Look at me."

Dean obeys, turning onto his back, another swipe of his tongue wetting his mouth. He is distracting, almost unbearably so, and Castiel allows himself to fold, to place a kiss against Dean's lips, his second hand joining the first in cupping Dean's head to allow the motion. Dean meets him with eagerness, soft sound of want falling from him when Castiel withdraws, his pupils flaring wide.

He licks his lips again. "Alpha?"

Castiel smiles, motioning for Dean to sit up, which the fledgling obeys just as quickly as he had the first order, turning and sitting to face his Alpha. The sheets twist around his legs and middle, just barely conserving his modesty, as he crosses his legs and sits, eyes attentive and waiting.

The Alpha pauses, cocking his head to one side, appraising his newest and favored Child. "You have been in my care for many years, Dean," he begins, suddenly unsure of how to proceed – his plans for Dean are vast, unlimited, and he knows that this will be in both of their best interests. Dean is still addicted and heavily reliant on Castiel's blood, and while he would trade that feeling – of Dean needing, so desperately, crawling into Castiel's lap and wringing pleasure from his Alpha with his body until Castiel finally tilts his head, bares his throat, and lets Dean in, the breathless gasp and wet 'thank you' kissed into his skin – for absolutely nothing, he cannot be of use if he cannot go long periods of time without Castiel, cannot turn to humans for sustenance.

Dean's eyes are darkening, and he's pressing his lips together like he is trying to hold his tongue, but Castiel doesn't seem to notice. He reaches forward, two fingers trailing across Dean's jaw, watching his Child's face. "Your future is so bright to me. I know you will do great things."

Dean's jaw clenches, and he lowers his eyes from Castiel's. One of his hands is curling tight in the sheets, knuckles whiting out. But still, he is saying nothing.

It is then that Castiel notices; his brow furrows a little, surprised at his fledgling's response to Castiel's offer. He ducks his head down, fingers curling under Dean's chin to lift him to eye level. "What do you think, Dean?" he prompts, his eyes flashing in Thrall, in an attempt to compel Dean into giving him an honest answer. "Would you like to serve me in this way?"

Dean takes a deep breath, ducking his head down again, eyes squeezed tightly shut for a moment. His exhale shudders, and his other fist has mimicked its brother, fingers tight and pressed to his thigh. "I don't…understand," he says after a moment, like the answer is being punched out of him. He sounds upset and Castiel blinks, not understanding why. Dean's eyes – his beautiful, dangerous eyes – flash up to meet the Alpha's. "Have you tired of me?"

Castiel blinks again. "What?" he demands, almost angry for a moment. "No!" Dean laughs, then – a short, sharp sound that is forced and bitter, and he looks down again. "Dean." Castiel takes Dean's chin in hand again, forces their eyes to meet. _"No_."

"Then _why _are you casting me aside?" Dean demands in reply, his eyes brightening with more than just venom and power, now – those are tears, fear and sorrow and anger burning deep in Dean's eyes, and Dean bares his teeth at the Alpha. "Why are you sending me away?"

"I am doing no such thing," Castiel snaps, earning another bitter snort from Dean.

Castiel bares his teeth in answer, letting loose a snarl. It causes Dean to go still, shoulders tensed and drawn up to protect his neck. "Dean." Their eyes meet without prompting again. "This is not me freeing you, or sending you away. I am doing no such thing." He reaches out, then, pulling Dean close to him and forcing the fledgling to give up his position on the bed. Dean is caught in Castiel's Thrall, his Alpha's power turning his bones to lead, when Castiel presses him onto his back on the bed and leans over him. "You will go out, and keep my influence amongst my covens, and recruit new ones to our side, but you will always return, to _me, _and to _my _bed, whenever I summon you."

Dean swallows, reaching out to press his fingertips against Castiel's collarbone, palm splaying out along his still heart. "Alpha," he whispers, his voice shaking and unsure, and he swallows. "Please, Alpha, I'll do whatever you ask of me, just don't send me away."

Castiel smiles down at his favored Child, brushing some of Dean's hair back from his face, and leans down to kiss him again. He can feel Dean's urgency, thrumming through his body and out of him in a shaky exhale, and keeps himself slow, poised, controlled, letting his presence and his scent and the weight of his body calm Dean from his hysteria.

He can feel it the second Dean relaxes, allows himself to breathe out slowly, his muscles unlocking from underneath Castiel. The Alpha is quick to take advantage, leaning back and rolling Dean onto his stomach, only to flatten himself out over his fledgling again. Dean struggles briefly, stops when he feels Castiel's teeth at his neck, breathing hard and trying to twist to look at his Alpha out of the corner of his eye.

"It would please me if you would accept this task I am giving you," Castiel says, running his hands down Dean's flanks, fingers splayed out wide until he reaches Dean's hips, where the sheet still stubbornly clings, and he pulls it down, exposing Dean to his demanding touch. Dean's body, altered so by Castiel's blood and too finely-tuned to his Alpha to ignore it, begins to respond to the touch, and soon enough Castiel can feel and smell the satisfying slick of Dean's arousal, wet on his fingers and coating the air in a thick fog. Dean lets out a quiet sound, burying his face in the sheets and pillows when Castiel's fingers breach him, his body arching back against Castiel without his consent. "You do want to please me, don't you, Dean?"

The fledgling's response is lost in a moan, as Castiel braces his arm next to Dean's body, and uses his free hand to guide himself into the lesser vampire's slick, warm hole. Dean is still loose from earlier, his legs spreading once again now to make room for Castiel, his Alpha, whom he will never deny, and then Castiel's nails dig into Dean's throat, hand wrapping around the front of him and hauling his head up so that he cannot muffle his responses into Castiel's bed, no matter how much he wants to.

"Do you not want me, Dean?" Castiel hisses, nails pressing tight enough that Dean chokes and whines, arching to hilt himself against Castiel and allow his Alpha fully inside. The fledgling nods, breathless, voiceless, one of his hands desperately grasping Castiel's to relieve the pressure on his throat, and he hopes Castiel understands. "What is it, then? Have you outgrown my kindness, and wish to disobey?"

Dean frantically shakes his head, letting out a sound that is suspiciously like a sob when Castiel growls, rolling his hips to pull out of Dean, only to thrust in hard enough that the bed rattles. Dean whines, baring his teeth, struggling against the pressure at his throat, and reaches back with his free hand, finds Castiel's thigh, digs in and holds tight in an attempt to placate his Alpha.

"I like to think I have been very generous towards you, Dean." The Alpha vampires words are a low snarl against his fledgling's neck, now, the lesser vampire falling silent as he realizes that Castiel does not want a response – he wants submission, and acceptance, and Dean does his best to relax despite the too-human instinct to fight for breath. He tilts his head to one side, baring his throat for Castiel's teeth, and the Alpha vampire snarls in victory and opens his jaws wide, teeth sinking into Dean's neck. Dean's pulse is beating wildly in fear and lust, and his blood floods Castiel's mouth like it is eager to sate him.

Fucking Dean had not been about pleasure, this time, but about dominating the fledgling vampire. Castiel's orgasm comes quickly when he does not try and draw out sex for his mate's pleasure – his hips stutter to a halt, flesh pressed tight to Dean's as he comes, spilling inside of Dean even as he draws more and more of his mate's blood into his mouth, swallowing down eagerly like an animal at its mother's milk.

He lets Dean go with a gasp, Dean falling back onto the bed, head hanging down between his shoulders as he is, braced on his elbows and carrying Castiel's weight shakily. The Alpha vampire is breathing heavily, still hilted inside of Dean, before he pulls away roughly, grabbing Dean by his shoulder and flipping him around so that they can look each other in the eye.

Castiel's expression, Dean thinks, is so much like when they would look at each other during the Meetings, when Dean was human – so stern in the presence of his Children but so tender towards Dean, gentle even, but Dean flinches when Castiel reaches down, traces the rise of his cheekbone and the strong line of his jaw with his fingertips, before he leans down and kisses Dean, kisses him hard, passionately, _desperately_, like he has yearned for Dean for years and can finally touch him, and kiss him. Dean is shaking, weak from the bloodletting and hot with unsatisfied arousal, but he has denied himself before for Castiel and he can do it again.

"We will begin your training tomorrow," Castiel whispers against Dean's mouth, smearing the fresh blood from Dean's own neck against his mate's skin, one hand lightly knotted in Dean's hair to keep him from turning his head away. Dean sucks in a breath, swallowing hard, and says nothing in reply. "Never doubt my love for you, Dean. I will punish you if you do it again."

Dean swallows again, before he reaches forward and touches Castiel's chest, fingers splayed out, only his fingertips touching Castiel's pale skin. Then, he kisses those fingertips, and presses them against Castiel's neck, never taking his eyes from those of his Alpha.

Castiel smiles, crookedly, affectionate, and kisses Dean again.

* * *

><p>"I…I don't think I can do this."<p>

Dean looks sick – Castiel has been bloodletting him for three days now, hardly letting Dean have a mouthful of his own blood in return, and he must be thirsty. There are dark circles under his eyes, and his lips are chapped and pale, and his eyes – normally shining with power and danger and more beautiful to Castiel than all of God's green Earth – are shadowed and flat. For a brief moment, Castiel allows himself to feel sympathy for his favored Child, but he pushes the thought aside very quickly – he cannot show weakness, even to Dean, because Dean needs to learn if he is ever going to become independent.

Castiel rolls his eyes, taking another swig of beer. "It's simple, Dean," he says, stepping close to the other man, and he can hear Dean's pulse quicken in anticipation, the lesser vampire's eyes zeroed in on his neck, and Castiel reaches forward, digging the nail of one finger under Dean's chin to lift his head so their eyes meet. "Find someone you like, take them out back, and drink." He tilts his head to one side, brow furrowing for a moment. "Why do you hesitate? Surely there is _someone_ here that strikes your fancy?"

Dean licks his lips, and he casts his eyes down, breaking away from Castiel's Thrall. "I don't _want _to, Alpha," he confesses, voice so low even Castiel has trouble hearing it – has to bend close with an eager ear to hear Dean. "I…I know what happens next. I feed from others, I get dirty, and you tire of me and cast me aside. I don't _want_ to leave you, Alpha, I -." Dean stops, then, his emotions making it difficult for him to finish the sentence, and so instead of speaking he takes a long drink of his own beer and looks down at the floor.

Castiel sighs, turning away from Dean and resting his back against the bar, drumming his fingers against his previously occupied bar stool in thought.

Dean reaches out, grabbing hold of his arm. He looks so earnest, so young and for a second Castiel remembers that Dean actually _is _young, a child by both his and humans' standards. He has never known a life outside of Castiel. "Please, Alpha," he begs. "I have never disobeyed you my entire life – never questioned an order or hesitated when given one. Not once."

Castiel cocks his head to one side, sighing and running a hand through his hair. "Dean -."

"I don't want what happened to Gabriel to happen to me!" Dean hisses, standing now, beer forgotten in the face of his anger. Castiel has a moment to be startled at his Child's sudden outburst, before Dean is speaking again: "I know he used to be where I sat, by your feet, and sharing your bed, and then you did the same thing, and sent him away!"

Castiel growls. "Bite your tongue, boy."

It is an order, and Dean knows it. Fire and anger is brightening his eyes, bringing life back to him, but he still defers to the natural authority in Castiel's voice – the power his Alpha has over him will likely never waver, never diminish, and before Dean really realizes what he's doing, he's sitting back in his seat and Castiel is staring him down and his head is tilted just enough to bare his throat and he feels like an insect caught in a web.

"My relationship with Gabriel was a matter of mutual benefit – and, not that you have any right to know this, it was never close to the same intimacy that I have with you." Castiel sighs, shaking his head, and grabs Dean's chin again, tilting the lesser vampire towards his gaze. "I would have you with me, in my bed, by my side, every day from this one onward if I could. However, so would others, and I would be remiss if I did not take advantage of that."

Dean's eyes widened in horror, and he pushes himself to his feet again, ripping his body from Castiel's grip. "You want me to _whore _myself?" he hisses, still, blessedly, with a lowered voice so that the humans cannot hear them, and Castiel is proud, for a moment, that his Child still manages to remain so tactful, even riled up as he is.

"Give them your blood," he says, closing the distance between himself and Dean. "Give them your words and your pretty smiles and all the promises it takes." Castiel raises his hand, holding it between the two of them until Dean's eyes are drawn to it, and then he kisses his fingertips, and lays them against the smattering of thin white scars against Dean's neck. "But _this_," he hisses, pleasure sparking in his eyes as he watches Dean shiver, "will always be mine. This _body_ – _your_ body, your _soul_ – is _mine_."

Dean tilts his head into the press of Castiel's thumb against his jaw, letting it run along his lips light enough to make him shiver again. Then, Castiel's fingers tighten, and he pulls Dean forward. "Now," he whispers, low and dark and Dean gasps. "Choose someone."

* * *

><p>She has raven black hair and eyes the color of a cloudless summer sky, rings of maelstrom-ocean navy and grey marring the color towards the middle. Her skin is naturally tanned, slightly pales on her shoulders and around her neck and her lips are full and a little chapped. She is slightly smaller than Dean, but still tall, tall enough that she doesn't need to stand on her tip-toes to kiss at his mouth and her long fingers can easily find their way into his hair, and when she presses up against him just right she can feel his erection against her abdomen.<p>

Dean doesn't care that she looks so much like his Alpha. He hopes Castiel notices.

She kisses like she's hungry for it, lipstick smearing against Dean's mouth as he takes her outside and presses her against the cold stone wall. Her dress has a circle cut into her back, so it's her bare skin against the bricks, but Dean is a gentleman and he cushions her there with a hand – though, truth be told, he's not sure his skin is much of an improvement.

She's breathing hard, arching her body against his, and Dean wraps her lovely long hair around his free hand and tilts her head to one side. She goes, gasping 'Easy, tiger' against his shoulder, long nails painted purple clawing at his back and he kisses at her neck, nostrils flaring wide.

_Oh._

He can smell her. Can smell her arousal – different to Castiel's, less intense, less want-it-need-it-fuck-me-raw-Alpha and instead slower, sensual, wisp of smoke in his mouth and burn of whiskey in his throat. He wants it – drags his tongue along her neck, feels the fire of thirst clawing at him, inner animal barely reined in and he feels like he's pulsing with want. His teeth are aching to stretch from his gums, he can feel them, barely held back, and she moans – moans so sweetly, too, high-pitched and innocent sounding but she smells like a wild animal, a seductress, a temptress.

_Dean_.

Dean makes a soft sound against her throat, kissing her there again. His hands tighten. _Cas_.

_Do it. Do it now._

His teeth slide free with a sickening sound, and his hand pulls at her hair harder, and he opens his jaws wide – just like it's his Alpha, even though it isn't, and she smells too different and her blood will taste so much blander and Cas will -.

He bites down, hears her scream, and instinct kicks in.

She's struggling, but she's no match for him, and he snarls and sinks his teeth in deeper, ripping at her skin as though he was tearing through paper, so easy – so Goddamn easy, and he can feel her blood rushing up to greet his tongue like an offering. Her hands are grabbing at his shoulders, nails digging in deep, feet kicking weakly against him but he is stronger, so much stronger than she is. His thirst blinds him, red tainting the backs of his eyelids, and he drinks – greedy, desperate – until she goes still under his hands and her screams have stopped, and she is barely breathing.

"Dean."

Through the haze, Dean almost doesn't recognize his Alpha's voice. He growls on instinct, sensing another creature nearing his kill, but the answering snarl he receives from Castiel is enough to melt him away. He lets the woman go, lets her drop to the floor, still bleeding, eyes sightless and staring out, and he steps away with a gasp, wiping his forearm against his mouth in a vain attempt to remove the stain of blood from his skin.

Castiel is smiling, and he kneels down next to the woman, gently cradling her head with one hand until it rests in his lap, and her eyes are staring at Dean, flat and dull and gunmetal grey now. Castiel presses his nail against the inside of his wrist, the sharp flare of new blood strong enough to make Dean's nostrils flare wide – the scent of his Alpha cutting through the sated feeling and warmth in his gut from her blood. Then, Castiel turns his wrist towards her open mouth, murmuring soothing non-words as he coaxes her to swallow with soft strokes down her throat, forcing her unresponsive body to take in his blood and begin the change.

Dean smiles bitterly when he realizes what Castiel is doing. "Have I chosen my own replacement?" he asks, and Castiel's eyes snap up to him, almost black with anger, but he doesn't speak until two more higher ranking fledglings melt out of the shadows and take the woman away, putting her in a van and undoubtedly driving back to Castiel's home, where she will be safe and cared for while her body changes.

"This is what you will be doing," Castiel says, pushing himself upright and advancing on Dean. The fledgling's mouth feels dry with a strange mix of fear and desire, and he backs away until he hits the cold wall and immediately tilts his head to one side in submission. "When you are out, without me, you will bring more people to our side – you are a call many will give their lives to answer." The light touch to his face startles Dean, as he was expecting a blow, and a shudder runs through him. "You're a natural, Dean – a born Alpha and leader."

Dean frowns, his teeth finally retracting into his gums as he bites his lower lip. "But…you are the Alpha. There's more than one?"

Castiel chuckles, shaking his head. For all that Dean has lived in and known this world, he still has so much to learn about it. "Any vampire that creates another is an Alpha, Dean – when you have your own children, your own fledglings, you will also become one, second only to me."

With a soft sound, Dean allows Castiel's fingers to direct his head, turning so that he is looking at the older vampire again and his throat is not bared so much. Castiel is standing so close, his touch chill against Dean's blood-warmed skin, and Dean wants to warm him, too.

"Will I be away long?" he asks, sounding small and young, his body tilting towards Castiel like gravity is pulling him there, his fingers curling through Castiel's hair at the nape of his neck, his breath soft against the Alpha's mouth. Castiel blinks, eyes dipping down briefly, and he leans in to kiss along Dean's jaw and neck instead of answering. "I don't want -."

With a sharp hiss, Castiel presses against Dean's chest, upper lip curling back just far enough that Dean can catch the subtle flash of Castiel's second set of teeth, before they are gone and the Alpha has regained his control. "What _I _want is to be obeyed, Dean, and not questioned by someone who has been alive long enough to barely be called a man, even by the standards of humans." Dean gasps, swallowing hard, when suddenly there is a hand at his throat – not pushing down too hard, not yet, but enough that is it a warning and his body instinctively struggles against the restraint. "You are a _child_, Dean, and you are _my _child, and you will obey me as my other Children do, am I clear?"

Dean swallows again, nodding, his hand coming up to wrap around Castiel's hand. It is a paltry move, he knows – would not do more to Castiel than if he were human, for Castiel is much stronger than he is – but he does it anyway, hoping that his touch will calm and soothe his Alpha as it has done so many times before.

"I will obey," he whispers, searching Castiel's face for any forgiveness, any mercy towards him. As soon as Castiel deflates with a nod of his head, letting Dean go, Dean ducks his head and presses his mouth against Castiel's neck. "I'm sorry, Alpha."

Castiel sighs, cradling the back of Dean's head with one gentle hand, the other resting against Dean's shoulder with his thumb running back and forth, over and over, against the scarred, exposed skin of Dean's neck, and he bends to press a kiss to Dean's hair. "Your loyalty makes you very special, Dean," he whispers, forgiveness in his voice. "And I am blessed to have such a loyal and beautiful Child as you are. You must understand, I would be remiss if I allowed your talents go to waste."

Dean's arms tighten around the Alpha vampire, his shoulders tensing. "Will you send for me often?" he asks, hopeful, almost begging for the answer to be 'Yes'.

Castiel chuckles, nodding, and kisses him again. "I promise. And no other." At that, Dean finally relaxes, his fingers digging into Castiel's clothes at his back desperately as he embraces his Alpha, and Castiel smiles, glad that he was able to finally tilt his Child to seeing things as they are, and now how his mind was choosing to see them. "Shall we go home, now, Dean? Unless you are still thirsty…"

Dean shakes his head. "No," he says, finally straightening and releasing Castiel. "I wanna go home."

"Good," Castiel replies, approving, smiling wide enough that Dean ducks his head sheepishly, smiling a little and wiping again at the blood staining his jaw. The sight of it makes Castiel proud, and hungry, and he wants to take this willful, fiery Child home and tear him apart. "You will continue this program with me until I feel you are in control enough to handle yourself without my presence and supervision." Dean nods, lips pressed together and eyes downcast in acceptance, but he doesn't look quite so tense and reserved about the idea, and that pleases Castiel. "But in the meantime, I promised punishment if you doubted my regard and affection for you, and I think tonight qualifies, does it not?"

Dean hesitates – only a second, a heartbeat too long and a step too far back before he continues to follow Castiel to their car – enough for Castiel to notice. The Alpha is smiling when he turns and holds his hand out to his fledgling, Dean's palm sliding into his, and pulls them close together against the cold, mist-damp flank of the car. The scent of Dean's arousal is already so strong and potent, curling around them like smoke, and hot and thick, and Castiel breathes it in deeply, savoring it while he can.

"I don't want to be punished for my love for you, Alpha," Dean whispers, voice a low growl, and Castiel's eyes rise to meet his. Dean's are dark, but there is a spark in them – something mischievous and taunting when the fledgling smiles wide, flashing teeth. "I'm going to run away from you."

It is a game that Castiel instantly recognizes – when Dean was first turned, and soon after discovered his increased speed and light footedness and silence, he would often try and sneak up on Castiel, or run away from the Alpha when Castiel would look for him, forcing him to chase, hunt, and – inevitably – catch him.

The Alpha raises an eyebrow, smile turning dangerous, and he instantly releases Dean. "By all means," he hisses, enough of a threat in his voice to make Dean shiver. "_Run_."

Dean flees fast enough that even Castiel has trouble following his movement, the echoes of his laugh still audible to the Alpha vampire's sensitive ears, and Castiel allows Dean a small – very small – head start, before he is tilting his head and scenting the air, eager to catch the potent scent of his mate and begin the chase.

He finds it quickly, Dean heading West, and smiles to himself. Dean in a good mood is always something of a treasure for him, knowing that his favored Child finds pleasure and joy in his presence and their way of life. And when Dean runs too fast and too far, relentlessly run down by the time Castiel finally catches him, his thighs will be soaked and he'll be too tired to do more than lay there and take it, and, well, Castiel can always find a certain pleasure in that as well.

Castiel's smile widens, and he takes off running.


	42. Cleansing

**Title: **Cleansing  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>PairingsCharacters: **Dean/Balthazar, Dean/OFC  
><strong>Spoilers:<strong> Balthazar? Castiel? Alistair? Okay cool.  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> light torturing, het, canon character death, allusions to dub-con  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~4k  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Balthazar and Castiel both rescued Dean from Hell. After torturing Alistair, Dean's a little shaken up, to say the least, and Balthazar just wanted to make sure he was okay. They had a lot riding on Dean, after all.  
><strong>Notes:<strong> Unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. ilovealistair on Tumblr prompted me this ages ago (like I literally think more than a year ago) and I finally wrote it. Yay.

* * *

><p>He remembers every thrust.<p>

Dean can feel two sets of forlorn blue eyes staring into the back of his head as he walks into the room holding his chained former teacher, leader and master. Alistair's eyes are white, his grin is wide and his teeth are already lined with blood from the undoubtedly rough beating needed to subdue him enough to tie him down to the metal rack. The Hunter's eyes flash down to the ground, taking in the quickly drawn-out Devil's Trap on the floor, some sigils he doesn't recognize marking the edge – Angel additions, he supposes, by Castiel and Balthazar who await him on the other side of the closed door.

"Daddy's little girl," Alistair hisses, baring his teeth in what Dean can only call _glee_. The Hunter's shoulders roll and he clenches his jaw tight. He remembers every thrust. Every slice of unnaturally sharp blades under his skin, separating his nerves and plucking them like a harp. He remembers every touch, every claw digging into his jaw to force his head up, every finger shoved down his throat to force him to choke on his own vomit, every slide of salt-and-iron-lined palm against the flayed skin of his inner thighs.

He remembers those touches turning reverent, attentive – not just designed to hurt when he stepped off the rack, eyes wild and jaws itching to close around the demon's jugular and pull. Remembers everything. Every tiny technique and detail drilled into his skull like another of Dad's sparring lessons.

His upper lip curls back at the memories, green eyes flashing. It's surprising him, just how much he looks upon this beaten vessel and _hates_. His fingers tremble around the edge of the demon-killing knife as he dips it into Holy Water and does his damnedest to ignore the voice that had been whispering in his ear for forty years.

"Feels good, don't it, boy?" the demon whispers as Dean steps close, lets himself feel the touch of his old master again as he slides a hand across Alistair's chest, feels the weakness in the human bones, grits his teeth at knowing the strength underneath and being unable to feel that instead. "To hold a blade again?"

Dean swallows back his words, head tilted in defiance, meeting the demon's eyes. He's ready – they both are. Ready to start this dance again. And when the knife slides against Alistair's ribs, cutting deep as though he were nothing more than melted butter, the demon throws his head back and screams, white light flaring within his vessel as the demon soul recoils from the blade's power.

Dean bares his teeth in a large grin. "You have no idea."

* * *

><p>They can hear nothing of what is going on in the other room, but it doesn't take a lot of imagination – Castiel and Balthazar both laid eyes on Dean in Hell, when he was 'at his finest', slicing deep into the screaming soul of an adulterous woman, black tinting the corners of his eyes.<p>

Balthazar's fingers curl tight into his palm, anger pulsing into his Grace – "He shouldn't be in there alone," he says, drawing the attention of his friend and brother, and Castiel nods, pressing his lips together tightly, eyes cast low.

"Uriel's orders were -."

"I don't care!" the other Angel growls out, earning a small roll of Castiel's eyes, the younger Angel dipping his head down to the floor in a sigh. "This is the Righteous Man, our _only _chance to win Hell's war, and we're throwing him back into the hands of his old master!"

"I understand that you're upset, Balthazar," Castiel says, shoulders dropping in resignation, shaking his head. His fingers are curling by his sides and Balthazar knows enough about his younger brother to recognize the signs of unease. Castiel's eyes haven't moved from the door. "I do, and I like this about as much as you do, but the orders were clear."

"Orders," Balthazar repeats with spite, wanting to curse the word as he folds his arms across his chest, wings snapping out before folding back to his vessel and he can catch Castiel's subtle amusement out of the corner of his eye.

They fall into silence together, merely waiting, when the Angels' heads snap up at the sound of a loud crash. They exchange a look, troubled and afraid, before Balthazar is the first through the door, Castiel following close behind.

Balthazar cannot help but stumble to a halt – Dean, Dean is trapped against the Saint Andrew's cross that they had tied Alistair to, the demon holding him up by his throat. He's bloodied up, choking on air, and without thinking Balthazar attacks, summoning his blade to hand.

He had not anticipated Alistair's reflexes.

The demon is quick, quicker than he'd thought the thing would be, and backhands the Angel with a snarl of disgust, letting Dean drop to the floor. "Get him out of here!" Balthazar shouts to Castiel, summoning his blade to hand as he puts himself between the demon and Dean, hoping that his brother can manage to carry Dean to safety.

"Your little pet's gotten soft up here," Alistair hisses, his very voice making Balthazar's Grace recoil in hatred. Everything about the demon calls out to Balthazar to smite and destroy, the inherent wrongness of the thing like an insult to his very being. The Angel lunges again, landing a blow to the demon's stomach but then Alistair is hissing and reacting and Balthazar feels pain explode in his Grace as the demon's hand lands around his throat and _something_ tightens around his Grace. It feels like he's been uncased in Holy Oil and set on fire – it's burning. "If he'd stayed with me, he'd still be strong. God's little bitches have spoiled him."

Balthazar snarls at that, twisting his blade in his hand to drive it up underneath the demon's ribs, ending him once and for all, but Alistair dodges back, a swift and bony hand driving itself against the Angel's jaw to send him to his knees. "Look at God's finest," Alistair yells, landing another punch as Balthazar scrambles back, trying to recover. "You've managed to take _years_ of work and ruin them. I'll make him my bitch again."

"Go to Hell," the Angel growls back, swinging a leg around and sending Alistair toppling to the ground, and then Castiel is back, crouching down by Alistair and driving his own blade into the demon's heart, and both he and Balthazar watch grimly as the bright red and white light sear out of Alistair's eyes and open mouth, before the vessel collapses, dead and open-eyed.

Balthazar looks up, wincing at the pull on his face but with a thought his Grace is already working on healing himself. "Where's Dean?" he asks as Castiel straightens, holding out a hand to his brother which Balthazar eagerly takes, letting himself be helped up.

"Through there," Castiel replies with a jerk of his head, before he leads the way into the other room. Dean is sitting, nursing his bruised throat and undoubtedly sore body, and looks up when the two Angels enter the room. "Did you get anything out of him?"

The dark shadow in the human's eyes is all they really need to know. Dean's mouth twists in a snarl, upper lip just curling back to expose teeth, and he says nothing.

Balthazar steps forward, hand outstretched towards Dean to heal him, but the human flinches from his touch, hissing out a low warning. "Don't -." But then it's too late, and Balthazar leases some of his Grace into the human's vessel, allowing himself to heal and knit back together bruised and battered flesh until Dean looks normal and is back to full health.

Dean immediately stands, wiping at where blood is still caked to his lower lip, and steps away from the Angels. He takes a deep breath and cannot look at them. "Is it true?" he asks, almost too low to hear, and Castiel and Balthazar exchange a look. "About the first seal? Did I…?" It is only then that he turns, expression dark and guarded but eyes so open, unable to hide behind his own shields when his old master had so easily broken them down. "Did I start the Apocalypse?"

"The Apocalypse was one of the biggest group efforts imaginable," Balthazar replies blandly, taking a step towards Dean, only to halt when the Hunter goes tense and growls in defense. "No one man can be blamed for it, Dean. Don't let that demon bastard get under your skin."

Dean folds his arms across his chest, eyes dipping down, nails curling into the thin skin at the inside of his elbow. He feels restless. "Well, if I'm all done here…" He's through the door before either Castiel or Balthazar can stop him, the Angels exchanging another look briefly before Castiel's shoulders slump.

"Go," the dark-haired Angel murmurs, corner of his mouth lifting slightly. "I'll clean up here."

Balthazar returns the soft smile, before winging away to chase after the Hunter, to make sure he doesn't get himself into any trouble.

* * *

><p>He finds Dean in a bar. The Hunter moves fast for a human, and his car is very heavily warded – in an abstract way, Balthazar is proud of Castiel for marking and erasing him so thoroughly from the Angels' tracking system, although the rest of him is grumbling in frustration when he manifests himself in the darkest corner of the bar Dean is inhabiting, eyes narrowed as he briefly scans the place for any hostiles. There are none – merely humans in varying levels of drunkenness getting on with their inhibition-lowering and iniquity-diving. He smiles to himself, allowing himself to relax and merely observe as Dean drinks away his guilt and self-loathing and makes sure the Hunter doesn't get himself into too much grief.<p>

He can feel that his eyes are not the only ones on Dean – there is a group of three women eyeing him hungrily also from the other side of the bar. If they looked past Dean, they would see Balthazar staring back, but their eyes are completely focused on the strong, slumping shoulders of the Hunter, the movement of his throat as he throws back another finger of whiskey, the strength in his arms and legs and the stretch of his lips when he pulls them back over his teeth against the sour sting of the cheap liquor, Dean stifling a rough sound against one hand as he signals for another with his other hand.

One of them breaks off from the pack soon enough. Balthazar had expected that. Hell, it might even help Dean to loosen up, let go a little and bury some of his grief and hatred between the woman's legs. What he does not expect – what makes him frown and sit a little straighter – is the flare of anger he feels towards the woman for doing so.

It's not her fault, of course – she has done nothing wrong. She's pretty, and polite when she approaches Dean – not so forward to be blatantly obvious, not so subtle to be ignored. And she's making Dean smile, bitter though it is and sharp at the edges to warn off a more sober woman. She's pretty – hot as fuck, if Balthazar is being honest with himself, would definitely take her himself around for a spin or two – and it's when she places a gentle, comforting hand on Dean's shoulder, taking a seat on the barstool neighboring his, that Balthazar realizes why he feels so angry.

Dean is smiling.

Dean never smiles at him. That wouldn't bother Balthazar, not really, but his soul is so bright when he smiles – like when a smile reaches the eyes, the Angel could tell when Dean's heart was in it or not. He's smiled at Castiel, at his brother, at this random woman in a bar. But not at him.

Why the Hell not?

She's smiling wider, getting Dean to talk, and Balthazar can see him opening up to her now – his shoulders are leaning back, legs spreading just slightly to turn towards her; more accessible, easier. And his soul is brightening despite itself at the attention and obvious lust in her eyes. Within two rounds they're headed out of the bar, her entire hand wrapped around his forearm and waving goodbye to her green-eyed girlfriends.

Normally, Balthazar would go over to pay the lonely ladies some attention of their own, but something compels him to follow Dean. To fly, and watch as his car starts, and as he drives, the woman's hand cupped around his erection and rubbing herself against his side. Watch as Dean smirks and allows a sucking kiss to be tattooed to his neck. Forces himself to go inside when Dean takes her in, fucks her face-down into the mattress until she's clawing at the sheets and screaming Dean's name. Until his hand is knotted in her hair and arching her back to claim her mouth. Until Dean stutters inside of her, hips pressed rough and tight to the full curve of her ass as she trembles and whimpers in pleasure and sighs in satisfaction, slumping to the mattress.

All the while, his Grace burns hotter and hotter in anger and he is having a hard time resisting the urge to manifest himself in the room and throw the woman out by her hair like the caveman he suddenly is. It's so damned uncivilized, and completely uncalled-for. He just doesn't understand why he's feeling this way.

Maybe because Dean never once looked her in the eye during or after.

Maybe because Dean isn't smiling anymore.

Dean is a gentleman, for anything else he is. He waits until she showers and dresses, and even offers to drive her back to the bar – an offer she politely refuses, insisting on calling a cab. An insistence Dean casually shrugs off, his smile completely gone from his eyes now, and he waits outside with her until the taxi pulls up and they part with an awkward smile, leaving Dean to return to his motel room alone. He'd rented a separate one from the two-queens he'd had before, and looks like he has no intention to return to it.

Balthazar finally allows himself to manifest, shoulders relaxing as the opaque camouflage of his wings relents, revealing himself to the human.

Dean's shoulders immediately go tense, and he's on his feet, back to the wall. "What the Hell do you want now?" he demands, his fingers twitching like he's desperate to reach for a gun but it's too far away for him to get to, and he knows it. "Haven't I done enough for you assholes today?"

Balthazar can't resist the urge to roll his eyes. "For all your bluster, would you honestly deny us if we asked for you?" he says, asking the question partially because he's actually curious about the answer – which is weird, because not three days ago he couldn't have cared less what came out of Dean Winchester's mouth.

Dean raises his chin in defiance, shoulders straightening, and doesn't reply. Figures.

Balthazar sighs. "Look, Dean, we overstepped our bounds today, and we know that. I wanted to make sure that you were alright."

"You know what?" Dean hisses, taking a step closer to the Angel. "I'm fucking _fine_."

"Yes, I could tell," Balthazar replies with a gesture towards the door where the woman just left. "Your soul is practically singing with joy over the cheap lay."

Dean's eyes narrow, and a dangerous flare of hatred and anger has started right in the pit of his stomach. Balthazar can see it, as in-tune to Dean's soul as he suddenly is, and the force of it makes him take a small step back. Just a small one, but enough that the action is noticeable, and Dean's mouth curls up in the same smile he had reserved for Alistair. "That," he says, very slowly and evenly, "is none of your fucking business, Voyeur Extraordinaire. You can kindly zap your ass straight back to Heaven if you're about to get all high-and-fucking-mighty over my one night stands."

"I wasn't…" For once, Balthazar feels lost for words. The red fire in Dean's soul is distracting him, and he can't find it in him to say that he wasn't watching because of _her_, or out of any sense of righteous judgment.

Dean's eyes are bright with anger and he turns away from Balthazar, heading towards the bathroom, presumably to shower. "Yeah, well, however you get your cloud-seeding done, don't bring it back here."

With the click of the bathroom door, Balthazar's voice – and his anger – returns to him like a blow to the head. The Angel shakes himself, anger returning strong and hot, and without thinking – really, rational thought can be dismissed completely when it comes to Dean Winchester – he is already winging his way through the bathroom door, almost colliding with a half-naked Dean because the room in the bathroom is so restricted.

"The fuck -?" And then Dean is silent. Silent because Balthazar's mouth is on his, his hands wrapping tight around the human's tense shoulders and shoving him back so his hip collides with the sink, stumbling round until his shoulder collides with the wall and finally there's a point to brace against, and Balthazar is caging him in, powerful wings invisible but very much there and making sure Dean stays exactly where Balthazar wants him.

"You always –" Another kiss, searing Dean, hot like a brand against his mouth and the human hasn't even caught up enough to start fighting back yet. "- have your two cents to add, don't you?" One hand moves from Dean's shoulder to the brand, the handprint curling around Dean's ribs where he had helped his brother pull Dean out of Hell – Castiel's print is still red and raw-looking against Dean's shoulder, but Balthazar's has healed up nicely, silver-white and barely raised. Dean's body shivers at the touch. "The _Righteous Man_." He snarls the title, the words that his leaders had intoned to him so seriously.

"Fucking Angel puppet, more like," Dean hisses back, the red fire in his soul flashing in his eyes now, pupils so wide and black in the dim light that Balthazar can hardly see the green anymore. He had fashioned Dean's eyes himself, and when he looks at them now, they're gone. They are not what he made.

But Dean's not pulling away – not doing much of anything, really, just breathing hard and loud in the minimal space between the two men, his gaze heavy and guarded on Balthazar's face. "Well?" he finally demands, spitting the word when Balthazar doesn't say anything for a long while.

Finally, the Angel growls. "Shut up," he snaps, shoving at Dean's shoulders just to hear the satisfying thump of flesh hitting the wall – hears the sharp, pained hiss Dean gives and can't find it in himself to acknowledge or care about it.

Then, their mouths are clashing together again, just so that Balthazar can ensure that Dean _will _obey his order, for once, and remain silent. All too easily – far too easily, and soon – he feels the Hunter's fingers digging into his shoulders, pulling him closer in, and he goes, because he can feel the low thrum of arousal underneath Dean's warm, flushed skin, can feel the tired pulsing of his soul in eager desire to please and be pleased.

Dean is tired – Balthazar can feel it in the way his body is heavy against the wall and his breathing is slowing, shaky on the exhale. Still, the Angel is selfish, knowing that even beaten into the ground Dean will have a few words to say when they stop kissing, so he doesn't. The burning anger is receding in his Grace, replaced with something gentler, fire tamped down and glowing hot in his chest.

"Come here," the Angel whispers, pulling Dean close to him and winging their way to the bed. With a thought Dean is clean as though he had been left alone to his own devices, hair fluffy and dry and smelling faintly of shampoo, his skin devoid of sweat and crusted blood gone from under his fingernails.

When he realizes what Balthazar has done, Dean smirks, a small, bitter laugh escaping him. "No point fucking something dirty, right?"

Balthazar's mouth twists down. He should have silenced Dean himself – he should have known Dean wouldn't have remained silent even that long.

"You're not dirty," he says instead of simply waving his hand to plaster his Grace across Dean's kiss-bruised mouth. Dean merely snorts, rolling his dark eyes and looking at some point on the ceiling above Balthazar's shoulder. "You're not dirty, Dean," he says again, fingers curling underneath Dean's chin and forcing their eyes to meet, Balthazar trying to communicate everything he is feeling through his gaze – hard to do, he'll admit, when he's not one hundred percent sure what it is that he is feeling. "You have been marked by Angels."

Dean's mouth twists, eyes dark, but he says nothing. Instead, he leans up, bracing himself on his elbows, and Balthazar meets him for the kiss, long fingers curling through Dean's soft hair, cradling his head and helping him maintain the position, and Dean's heartbeat is flying in his chest, heavy and harsh when Balthazar rolls his vessel's hips, flesh smooth and pliant to his will shivering underneath him as Dean gasps.

There is very little finesse in the way that Balthazar brings Dean pleasure - for all that he has dallied in the sins of his father's land, he has never lain with a man, and doubts that Dean would be willing to bare himself even more to the Angel after such a raw evening. Even so, it seems that all too soon Dean is breathing out heavily against his neck, sharp nails digging in to his shoulderblades hard enough to pull a long groan from the Angel as they both go still, Dean's legs falling lax and loose around the Angel's waist. It's uncomfortable, and tense, but as Balthazar breathes out againt Dean's neck and closes his eyes, the release helps to calm the disquiet rolling around in his Grace.

After a moment, Dean lets out a soft, uncomfortable sound. "So, that was…"

Balthazar rips himself away, flattening his palm over the Hunter's kiss-swollen lips. "Do be quiet, Dean," he said, earning a narrowing of Dean's darkened eyes. He searched the Hunter's face for a long moment before carefully withdrawing, plastering a carefree grin to his face. "I trust that I can leave you to work out whatever lingering issues you might still have. I only hope you think to call me or Castiel before doing something stupid."

Dean rolls his eyes again, shifting back to lean against the headboard while Balthazar pushes himself to his feet, and with a wave of his hand they're both clean. "So, you're just gonna up and leave now?"

Balthazar pauses, half turned away. "Would you prefer I stay?"

He can practically feel Dean rolling his eyes, as the Hunter makes a dismissive noise and rolls over onto his side, digging himself under the covers of his rumpled bed. "Do whatever you want," he says, voice low and rough, and Balthazar gives an exasperated noise, because seriously? Angels weren't exactly known for their free will.

He wings to the edge of Dean's bed, wrapping himself in the air until he fades from sight. Whether or not Dean actually believes he's gone, eventually the Hunter's breaths even out in restless sleep. Hours later Castiel joins him in watching over the Hunter, silent but questions set into his shoulders and the tilt of his head.

"I'll wait out the night," he tells the other Angel, earning a slow nod and a flash of sympathetic understanding from his Brother's gaze. He hates that look. "Is the demon corpse taken care of?"

"Naturally." Castiel's dry reply makes Dean shift, rolling onto his back and turning his face towards the Angels. Even in sleep his brow is furrowed, his shoulders tensed. "Tread carefully, Balthazar."

Balthazar merely smiles.


	43. Not Exactly a Burden

**Title: **Not Exactly a Burden  
><strong>Author:<strong> HigherMagic  
><strong>Pairing(s): <strong>Dean/Castiel/Samandriel**  
>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Word Count: <strong>~3000**  
>Warnings:<strong> spanking, D/s,  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Samandriel has needs that Castiel can't satisfy, so he turns to a friend for help.

* * *

><p>The room feels too loud, itching along Castiel's skin, but his attention is raptly fixed on the scene in front of him. He's known Dean for years, they've been friends for as long as Castiel can remember, but he can't quite imagine taking the easy-going, protective man he's known almost all his life and slotting him into the roll he's playing now.<p>

The cause of this scene, the reason they're both here, now, is currently bent over Dean's lap, naked, slim wrists caught in one of Dean's large hands, pale skin deliciously reddened along the nape of his neck and underneath where Dean's other palm rests against his ass.

Samandriel, Castiel's boyfriend, his shoulders gently shaking and Castiel's name a broken sob coming out of his throat.

It aches something inside of him, something he can't quite name. He's not sure if the lust he's feeling is for Samandriel's state, or the man that put him there – he knows he's never gotten pleasure out of seeing Samandriel cry, but his boyfriend's pretty blue eyes are so wide and bright now, blond hair matted with sweat, hard cock hanging down between his legs and subtly rutting against Dean's thigh.

He looks gorgeous.

Dean is put together as he ever is, apparently unaffected by the pretty sub writhing in his lap aside from the bulge in his jeans that Castiel can't help but notice, sitting where he is so that he can see. His usual cheer and almost lazy demeanor is gone, replaced instead by an unwavering strength and control that makes Castiel's mouth go dry.

He looks gorgeous, too.

It had started with Samandriel, needing something Castiel had no will to give him. He's forceful enough in bed, leaves marks and bruises and is willing to fuck Samandriel to within an inch of his life at the slightest provocation, but he can't stand the thought of his boyfriend in legitimate pain: pain which, apparently, Samandriel needs.

Dean's eyes flick to his, knowing smirk that looks so familiar and foreign at once stretching his mouth wide. "How does he look, Cas?" he asks, tone soft and fond, rubbing his palm down the cleft of Samandriel's ass, and Castiel marvels at how Samandriel sobs softly and arches his hips up into a touch that must surely sting.

Castiel swallows, dry-mouthed and hoarse. "I don't like seeing him cry," he admits, biting his lower lip when Samandriel whines, but doesn't turn to face him; 'No looking, little bird,' Dean had said. 'Not until I say you can'.

Dean's smile softens into something more genuine. "Some people crave it, Cas," he replies, his hand leaving Samandriel's red skin and rubbing into the dip of his spine, soothing and gentle. It contrasts so harshly with the hard smacks he'd heard merely a moment before that Castiel feels dizzy and light-headed. "He knows he can safe word at any time, but he hasn't. And he won't – not if you learn to read him right."

Castiel swallows, but finds he can't refute that. Ever since he had led Samandriel into Dean's spare room, comfortable-looking but sparse, Dean had taken control of the situation with an ease Castiel couldn't help but envy. He'd known how to touch Samandriel as though a manual was written onto his skin, gave him a nickname that made him smile and made him make noises that Castiel knew from experience meant he was enjoying himself.

Samandriel's fingers ripple and flex where they're clenched around Dean's other forearm, braced across his back; 'Just let go and I'll stop, little bird, I promise'. Since Castiel had told him that Samandriel had trouble vocalizing when they got into it, Dean had given him that out instead. It was delightfully, genius and simple, and again Castiel had to wonder just how his best friend had managed to keep this kind of thing a secret for so long. Dean _belongs_ in this situation, in control and put together with a pretty little thing squirming in his lap.

Castiel's eyes dart to his boyfriend's red face, licking his lips at the shine of tears. Samandriel's upper lip is curled back, teeth bared, eyes clenched tightly shut. He's close – _fuck_ – if Dean makes him come just from spanking Castiel might just lose his damn mind.

Dean smirks, like he can read Castiel's thoughts, and brings his hand back down sharply on Samandriel's ass, making the younger man hiss and squirm, new tears falling. "Look so gorgeous like this, little bird," he says, a sex-drawl that Castiel has never heard from him, makes heat pool low and his heart pound hard behind his ribs. "I want you to look at him – look at Castiel." _Fuck_, the way Dean says his full name shouldn't be hot, nor should the look Samandriel obediently sends him. He looks a mess, sweaty and ruffled and breaking apart and Castiel's gut aches in such confliction he doesn't know if he can move. "See what you're doing to him?"

Samandriel's eyes rake down Castiel's body, making the older man shiver, licking his lips again. The thought of Samandriel crying or in pain still hurts him, but he finds himself looking past that, drawn somehow to the darkness in his boyfriend's eyes and the pretty pink flush along his cheeks. Dean's hand comes down again, jerking Samandriel's whole body, and he lets out a _filthy_ sound that has Castiel biting his lip, reaching down to palm himself through his jeans.

Samandriel moans at the sight, head dropping down, eyelids fluttering only to flare open at Dean's warning growl and hard smack. "Did I tell you to look away?" Dean asks, rhetorical of course, but Samandriel gasps and shakes his head and in reward Dean palms roughly over his sore ass, pulling at the stinging flesh and making Samandriel arch up onto his toes.

"Fuck," Castiel breathes, unable to stop himself, and Dean smirks, letting Samandriel go, and returns to gently rubbing over the younger man's ass.

Samandriel squirms again, a half-formed, needy sound spilling from behind his clenched teeth. Castiel knows what that means. "Dean, he needs -."

"I know what he needs," Dean says, cutting him off. "He needs _you_. Come here, Cas."

Castiel rises to his feet, unsteady, shaking though he's not sure why, if he's dizzy or drunk on the power he feels leaching into him from Samandriel's heavy gaze. His boyfriend's teary eyes follow him as he approaches and, wordlessly, Dean pulls his hand away and brings his forearms together, tells Samandriel to grab the other one so that the hand closest to Samandriel's head is free and he can pet gentle fingers through his messy, sweaty hair.

"Relax, little bird," Dean says, smiling when Samandriel's shoulders relax and his entire body unravels and he melts into Dean, but Dean's eyes are on Castiel and they feel burning. "Cas is gonna take care of you."

The order is clear, unspoken; _Finish him_. Castiel bites his lip and lets his eyes drop to his boyfriend's pretty ass, stained red in the shapes of Dean's hand. He reaches out, smoothes his hand over so his palm fits into a mark shaped like Dean's, feels his breath leave him in a heavy gust when Samandriel arches into the touch, desperate and needy.

Dean's grin lights up the corner of his gaze, the rest of him focused on Samandriel, on how his body shakes finely and every breath he takes in ends in a soft cry. Dean's arm flexes where it's held by Samandriel's hands, wraps around the younger man's slim waist to hold him down.

"Not too hard," he warns when Castiel pulls his hand back. "But make him feel it."

Castiel frowns, has no idea what to make of that, but he knows immediately when he brings his hand down that he hit too softly. Samandriel barely makes a sound and that in enough is an answer. Dean's eyes never leave him as he brings his hand down again, harder this time where Samandriel's ass creases into his thigh, and the cry he receives for that is, somehow, incredibly _satisfying_.

"Again," Dean growls, rough, affected even though he tries not to show it. "Hit him again."

_So wrong so wrong so -_. Castiel obeys, unable to resist the needy call of Samandriel's body any more than he is able to resist Dean's ever-coaxing voice. The voice of the man who used to lure him into their elderly neighbor's backyard to try and sneak glances at him or got him suspended from school for breaking into the Principal's Office for dirt on the teachers.

Castiel smacks Samandriel again, and again, until his own hand hurts and Dean's fingers have stopped petting and have wrung through his hair to hold him still as Samandriel bucks and wails out these beautiful, needy sounds that Castiel has never heard. _Fuck_.

It happens suddenly, and Castiel only notices because Dean's hand lets go of Samandriel's head and snaps out to grab his wrist. He blinks, comes back to himself, and gasps when he realizes that Samandriel is coming, his shoulders flexing and rolling as he bows over Dean's lap, hips humping forward onto the older man's thigh, his cries mixing together into one long whine that makes Castiel feel like he's been punched in the chest, his cock twitching, breath coming short.

"Fuck," he whispers, running a hand through his hair and stepping back. Dean's smiling at him, proud, eyes glowing, and they wait until Samandriel's cries dissolve into breathless gasps and whimpers before Dean pulls him up to stand.

The three of them stand together, Dean cupping Samandriel's face and wiping over his cheeks with his thumbs, eyes searching for something only he seems to know how to find, uncaring for the sweat stains across his thighs or the semen soaking into the leg of his jeans.

Then, he smiles, and pushes at Samandriel's shoulder until the younger man kneels – not braced with his heels digging into his feet like before, but up onto his knees, his shoulders relaxed and smile wide as he crosses his wrists at the small of his back.

"You did wonderfully, baby bird," Dean praises quietly, crouching down in front of Samandriel and pushing a small bottle into Castiel's hands. "Rub this into his skin – it'll help with the sting."

It's lotion, and Castiel doesn't hesitate as he falls to his knees next to Samandriel and opens the bottle, applying a thick glob to his fingers and rubbing it gently onto Samandriel's blood-warm skin. "Are you alright?" he asks, unable to help himself; the sight of Samandriel's dry tear stains linger in his mind and on his boyfriend's face, dimming the glow of his satisfied smile.

Samandriel doesn't look at him, because Dean hasn't said he can. "I'm awesome, Cas," he says, his words slurring, and Dean chuckles and leans up to press a kiss to Samandriel's forehead. They stay like that until the bottle is empty and Samandriel's skin has cooled. He looks much more relaxed and there is no pain lingering around the corners of his eyes, so Castiel satisfies himself with knowing that Samandriel would tell him if he's in too much pain.

"When you guys leave, give him some juice and anything else he needs – touch, food, comfort. Anything at all," Dean instructs, taking the empty bottle back and pulling Castiel to stand. His erection juts forward, knocking into Dean's stomach as they're pulled close together in front of Samandriel, and Castiel blushes but doesn't step back – meets Dean's eyes and holds them as his friend's slow, trouble-meaning grin stretches his mouth wide again. "But now, he has to give you something. Even trade."

Castiel frowns, not quite understanding – how can Samandriel owe him anything after that? But Dean turns him, pocketing the empty bottle of lotion so that his hands are free, one curling tight around the jut of Castiel's hip as he positions Castiel to stand right in front of Samandriel, clothed erection mere inches from the other man's mouth.

Dean's breath curls hotly across Castiel's neck, making him shiver muscles in his stomach clenching with arousal. "Put a hand in his hair," he says, and Castiel obeys without quite understanding why, glad when Samandriel leans into it, his smile wide and adoring when he chances a glance up.

Dean chuckles, tapping his free knuckles under Samandriel's chin. "You can look now, little bird. Take him out for me."

Castiel sucks in a quick breath as Samandriel obeys, fingers nimble and eager. He looks wrecked, but so damn greedy for it, ultimately blissed out. Maybe Samandriel _should _give something back, if somehow that harsh treatment made him smile that wide.

Dean pushes up against the small of Castiel's back, erection dragging between the barriers of their clothes, Dean's chin hooking over Castiel's tensed shoulder as they both look down at Samandriel, on his knees, open-mouthed, just hovering out of reach since neither of them had said he could start.

Dean reaches down, thumbing at the corner of Samandriel's open mouth but pulling back before he can wrap his lips around Dean's thumb, just toeing the line now of too much intimacy when already this situation is making Castiel feel breathless. "Look at that sweet mouth of his, Cas," he breathes, dark, low, and Castiel shakes in his hold. He feels like he's been punched when Dean wraps his free hand around his erection, guiding his cock into Samandriel's mouth. "Hold still, little bird," he growls, Samandriel opening his mouth wide, jaw relaxed as Dean sinks Castiel deeper inside his mouth, only to drag him back out.

Castiel bites out a low curse, reaching back to curl his hands into the meat of Dean's damp thighs. Dean makes him continue like that, his hand and his hips pushing Castiel into Samandriel's mouth and then pulling him back out, fucking in a maddeningly slow rhythm that has Castiel whining, gritting his teeth and tilting his head back to rest against Dean's shoulder.

Dean chuckles, lets his hand slide down Castiel's cock until he's stroking with two fingers and his thumb, fucking deeper into Samandriel's lax throat. "You boys should come back to me whenever you need this," he says, and it should be weird because Castiel has a good two years on Dean in age, but he feels weak and malleable in Dean's arms, eager for anything Dean might give him. It's so strange, mind-altering, when he's always been so forceful and dominant with Samandriel and all of his previous boyfriends, to melt so eagerly into Dean now, warm with the need to please him and shaking with the desire to earn the praise that Samandriel had earned so well.

Maybe Dean senses it, maybe he can read Castiel just as well as he could read Samandriel, but Castiel feels his smirk against his neck as he lets Castiel fuck into Samandriel's mouth again, stroking, twisting tight. "Gonna come, sweetheart? Wanna fuck into his sweet little mouth and make him swallow it all?"

Castiel lets out a rough sound. "_Dean_," he gasps, hips bucking forward without his consent, deeper into Samandriel's mouth, and Dean lets him, chuckles low against his nape and lets him fuck forward, hand tightening in his boyfriend's hair, fuck, _fuck_ -.

He gasps again, coming down Samandriel's throat. He feels his legs have gone boneless, only Dean's strength holding him up now from the force of his orgasm. He's never come so hard in his life, he's sure of it, and when he pulls out and stares up at Samandriel's wide eyes, he's pretty sure the feeling is mutual. Somehow Dean's taken their already strong chemistry and made them electric, intense.

They're definitely coming back.

Dean strokes a hand through his hair, still hard but making no move to take care of it, and smiles warmly at Castiel as he tucks him back into his jeans – an action that makes Castiel blush, unable to look away from Dean's proud gaze – and cups his face in his hands to kiss Castiel's forehead. Just that little action makes Castiel feel warm all over, sated and content and smiling.

He lets Samandriel go, and pulls him up and gives him the same kiss, tapping two fingers lightly against his cheek. "Go get dressed, little bird, so Cas can take you home and take care of you."

Samandriel dips his eyes down, smiling sweetly, and obeys without a word. His clothes were left in the front room and when the door closes behind him, Castiel turns to Dean, dizzy, breathless.

"Dean, I -."

Dean waves his hand to silence him, smiling wide. It's the same smile Castiel has known all his life, easy and lazy almost like nothing in the world can bother him – but now Castiel knows what Dean sounds like when he's _not _that Dean, knows the strength in his hands and the control in his voice and he _wants_ more than he can say. He's dry-mouthed at the thought.

"'S no problem, Cas. Happy to help." Dean pauses, looking him up and down, eyes appraising and sharp.

Castiel is a coward. He bites his lip, averts his eyes. "Thank you," he says instead of what he was about to say, cheeks coloring at the white stain on Dean's jeans and the obvious bulge still visible. His back and neck burn where Dean was pressed against him. "I had no idea you had…experience, in areas like this. I'm truly grateful."

Dean shrugs one shoulder. "Not exactly a burden," he replies with a wink, making Castiel's blush darken and spread.

"No," he says, fidgeting, thinking of how Samandriel had looked at Dean, eyes shining and adoring like he would do anything Dean said just to earn his praise – can't help but think how he had fallen under that spell also, the gleaming web that was Dean's attractive personality and careful control. "No, I suppose not."


	44. Before You Go Away

Dean and Castiel are mated Alphas, and Dean is due for a long trip away in the morning. Sex happens.

* * *

><p>Dean's stood against the entrance to his bedroom, shoulder braced against the doorframe and arms folded over his chest. One of his legs is folded in front of the other, ankle resting against his shin, the picture of ease. There's a huge smile on his face as he watches his mate and son milling around the room.<p>

Castiel has Adam cradled on his hip, one arm slung around the young boy's waist while their son clings to him loosely, unafraid of falling as Castiel leans over to pick up a pair of Dean's more comfortable shoes and placing them in the suitcase. The action makes Adam swing around, giggling, and he spies Dean watching them.

He kicks his feet out, grinning, and lets go of Castiel in order to reach out to Dean. "Papa!" Dean runs forward and catches him before he can lose his balance too quickly, easily swinging the three year old up so he's tucked against his chest.

"Hey, buddy," Dean murmurs, cupping the back of Adam's head and resting their foreheads together. "You helpin' your daddy pack for me?"

Adam nods wildly, kicking again until Dean sets him down with a soft laugh. One of Castiel's hands flattens across his shoulder, drawing Dean's attention as Castiel draws him in for a gentle, loving kiss. Dean will never get tired of how his breath hitches and his chest gets warm and tight whenever Castiel touches him.

Then, Castiel draws away, his touch lingering on Dean's shoulder for just a moment before he turns his attention back to the suitcases sprawled across their bed, several sets of Dean's clothes set out on either side. "I checked the predicted weather patterns and I think I've managed to get all the necessities. Go through and veto anything you want, but the rest is good to go."

Dean grins, reaching out to take Castiel's hand in his, lacing their fingers together.

"I trust you," he says with a one-shouldered shrug, squeezing once before letting go. "Time to put Adam to bed?"

"I'll go," Castiel says, putting one hand on Dean's chest and heading towards the door. He snaps his fingers and points towards the bed. "Look through the things I've gathered. Veto. _Pack_. Your flight leaves in the morning!"

The bedroom door closes softly behind Castiel as he ushers their son towards his room for the night. Dean is leaving late enough in the morning that Adam will be awake, so they don't need to say their goodbyes now. Sighing, the Alpha turns his attention back to the clothes scattered across the bed and, because he's tired and not in the mood to try and sort through everything, he begins to take the clothes and pile them on one of the spare chairs in their bedroom. He sets the open suitcase down on the floor and lays everything inside.

Castiel opens the door again, one disapproving eye on the pile. "Dean," he says, and nothing else, and Dean grins again, straightening to turn to his mate.

"C'mere." He holds out his hand, pleased when Castiel immediately walks over to join him, their hands lacing together and Castiel easily rubbing his scruffy cheek against Dean's shoulder. "Now's the part where you complain about my trips with the guys and beg me to stay at home."

It's meant as a joke, but it does fall somewhat flat. Castiel doesn't like it when Dean goes away – truthfully, Dean doesn't either. There's too many instincts involved in leaving his nest, even though he knows Castiel is more than capable of taking care of things while he's gone. Hell, the guy is more of an Alpha than Dean ever will be – but still, they're both Alphas, and it takes a lot of instinct in both of them to make something like this even work. By the time Dean comes home, his scent will have dulled and all he will see is a foreign Alpha around his son, in his home.

Castiel's shoulders rise and fall in a sigh, and he pulls back just enough to look his mate in the eye. A small smile passes across his face, fleeting. "I would, but you always leave anyway," he says, not quite sadly – wistful, almost. "I'm going to miss you."

"I'll miss you too," Dean murmurs, taking both of Castiel's hands and raising them to kiss at his knuckles, the backs of his hands, his open palms when Castiel turns his hands and cups Dean's face. Castiel draws him in for another kiss – this one harder, more passionate, no longer tempered with the presence of their son. Dean can smell his mate's arousal, the sharp sting of rut that makes his eyes bleed red and his lip curl back to bare teeth. "_Cas_."

Castiel shoves Dean back before he can bite him. They know their dance well enough by now, know how Dean needs the space at first, the few inches and seconds it takes to look an enemy over and weigh him up – Castiel gives him that, but attacks soon after, pinning down his Alpha mate and quickly fitting one hand around his neck, palm flat against Dean's throat. Not squeezing yet, not quite, but a light weight to remind Dean who's in charge.

He can feel Dean swallowing under his hand; feel the tension in his Alpha mate's shoulders as Castiel pushes his thighs apart. Dean's eyes have thin lines of red in them, dark behind his irises, and the younger Alpha closes them when Castiel leans down to kiss him.

"I love you," Castiel says, letting go of Dean's neck now that he's gained a secure place between Dean's legs. He drags one hand down his mate's chest, weighing him down, fisting in his t-shirt as Dean makes a soft sound and arches up, pleased at the way Castiel's hard cock grinds against his through their clothes.

It's difficult when their breathing gets heavy, expecting the sweet slick of an Omega or the softer, plainer scent of a Beta and only to get an Alpha's rut instead, and Castiel quickly lets go of Dean and hooks his hands under his mate's thighs, shoving him up the bed in one quick, rough movement that rumples the sheets and has Dean gasping, sitting up as Castiel crawls onto the bed to meet him.

They kiss again, Dean's hand tight in Castiel's thick hair and Castiel letting his brazen hands wander up Dean's thighs, settling on his hips and keeping him still as Castiel pulls away from the kiss. He bites at Dean's neck once, quickly, sharp and mean so that Dean flinches back and gives him room to bend down further. He makes quick work of Dean's belt, shoving up the hem of his shirt to bare his torso and undoing the button on his jeans.

He leaves Dean like that, smirking at his mate's soft, shaky exhale as he places a gentle, lingering kiss to the exposed skin between Dean's raised shirt and his jeans. He can feel his mate, tense underneath his hands, unsure with another predatory so close to such a vulnerable part of him, and he kisses Dean's skin again, pleased and proud that his mate trusts him so much.

"Cas." His name sounds breathy and soft, slipping out of Dean's mouth like a curse, and Castiel's attention is caught by Dean reaching back to their bedside table and rifling through before dropping a half-full bottle of scented lubricant next to one of Castiel's hands.

The older Alpha grins. Dean never was one for subtlety. "You or me?" he asks, already knowing which he'd prefer tonight, but Dean is leaving and it's become a tradition of theirs to let him decide.

Dean's teeth flash as he bites his lower lip, almost no green left to his eyes now as he blinks and looks at Castiel, dark red. "You," he says, sitting up and cupping the back of Castiel's head, fingers twisting in his hair to haul him up so that he can scruff him loosely. "Wanna knot you."

Castiel hums, sitting back on his heels and helping Dean pull first Dean's shirt off, then Castiel's. They've done it a handful of times, too many hormones and bared teeth to risk being stuck together for so long, but each and every time they knot Castiel feels his chest get tight and his insides _ache_ whenever he thinks about it. For an Alpha, Dean loves getting fucked, but he's going to have to sit for a long time tomorrow so it probably makes sense that Dean doesn't want to take a knot tonight.

"You gonna let me?" Dean presses, kissing along Castiel's exposed neck.

Castiel nods, smiling, and pulls Dean into a kiss. "Of course."

Dean's grin widens and he quickly picks up the bottle of lube and pushes it into Castiel's hands, only hesitating a moment when Castiel hands it right back.

"I want you to do it," the older Alpha says, knowing his eyes are starting to turn red because he feels like he can _see _the heat of Dean, feel the throb of his pulse under his fingertips when he lets his hands drag across Dean's wrists, over his hands. "Please?"

Dean swallows and nods. "Help me get naked," he replies with a smile, the tender moment passing quickly as the two Alphas turn their attention back to the matter at hand. Soon, they're both naked, his clothes scattered and mixing with the pile of clothes to be packed with the suitcase, and he has his cock in his hand as he watches Castiel spread his legs and lean back against the piled pillows of their bed, his fingers slick and shiny with the lube, his red eyes on his mate's.

The sweet scent of Omega-slick fills the air, softening their edges as Dean lets his wet fingers circle Castiel's rim. Castiel shivers at the first touch, biting his lower lip and arching up into it. When they do this, with the fake-Omega scent between them, they can imagine Castiel mate is getting wet, slick for Dean. Castiel can't, of course, for real, but they pretend and it works well enough.

Dean has memorized the sharp indrawn breath Castiel does when he sinks one finger inside, the way his hand clenches in the pillow where he's reaching back to stop himself sinking his nails into Dean's chest. He knows by heart the rhythm Dean instinctively sets – slow but deep, sinking as deep into Castiel's ass as he can like he can fool himself into thinking it's his cock, already fucking his mate. Dean knows the way Castiel's thighs shake, spread out just a little to give more of a show, the way his stomach dips down and his chest rises when he breathes in deeply.

The whole scene makes Dean ache to be inside of him, and he wraps his hand tight around the base of his cock to stop his knot growing too soon, his bottom lip between his teeth as he watches hiss finger moving in and out. He wants to lean in, wants to wrap his lips around Castiel's cock and suck him down, fill his lungs with the scent of fake-Omega and his mate's sharper scent – and then it occurs to him that there's absolutely no reason why he hasn't yet.

Castiel growls loudly when Dean traces his tongue along the thick vein on the underside of his cock, red eyes flying open and staring in barely-disguised shock and awe as the younger Alpha wraps his lips around Castiel's cockhead, his free hand keeping Castiel's cock steady as he sucks at the head.

"Oh, _Dean," _Castiel's getting loud, and Dean can tell from the way his jaw clenches and his hips flex upward that he likes the second finger Dean slides in alongside the first. He reeks of fake-Omega and Dean breathes in through his nose, deeply, greedy, as he takes more of Castiel into his mouth. "Dean, Dean – fuck -."

Dean pulls off suddenly, nipping at Castiel's hipbone in quick warning. "Adam's probably not asleep yet, Cas," he chastises. "You need to be quieter."

"Make me," Castiel challenges.

The other Alpha grins, this slow and knowing smile, before he leans down to press a wet, open-mouthed kiss along the shaft of his mate's cock. "Alright," he says, before moving away. Castiel barely has time to let out an outraged, threatening growl for being denied Dean's mouth before Dean has a tight hand in his hair, his other hand flattening across Castiel's mouth as he leans down and sinks his teeth into his mate's neck.

It gets Castiel every single time, caught between purring like a fucking kitten and thrashing, a predator in fight mode. Castiel snarls against Dean's hand, and shoves him back. The bed squeaks in protest as the two Alphas go rolling, but Dean has always had the advantage of height and weight on Castiel, and years spent wrestling his little brother has made him a quick and dirty fighter.

Castiel's neck is shining with a thin sheen of blood when Dean manages to pin Castiel, his hands wrapped tight around the other Alpha's wrists and holding them above his head, his heavy weight straddling Castiel's stomach. Castiel bites his lip, able to smell the tease of heat and slick between his legs when the younger Alpha grins, his red eyes raking down Castiel's exposed throat and chest.

Dean leans down to kiss him, all sharp canines and low growls, but Castiel can answer back in kind.

Dean pulls back, fingers of one hand stretching out so that he can wrap around both of Castiel's wrists, freeing his hand that's still thickly coating in the fake-slick he'd been using to stretch himself open. His eyes are sharp, dark like a predator's, as he rubs his wet thumb over Castiel's top lip, letting the panting Alpha get a good, long breath of the promising Omega pheromones.

Castiel shows him his teeth.

"I want you to beg," Dean growls, pulling his hand away, wrapping his lips around one of his fingers and sucking with an obscene, filthy sound. Castiel's eyes narrow, the backs of them heated and bloody with the red Alpha color. "Beg me to fuck you."

Castiel snarls, shoulders and arms tensing as he fights against Dean's restraining hold, but Dean has his height and leverage to keep Castiel down. "Dean," he hisses, warningly, as Dean grins down at him, letting his hand fall to wrap tight around his thick, red cock, stroking himself nice and slowly while Castiel watches. "Dean -."

It's more breathless now, dry-mouthed desire softening Castiel's threats. When he looks up at Dean, he licks his lips, the hard-edged fight melting from him. His hands twitch again. "Let me go."

Dean obeys, and Castiel sits up, wrapping his arms tight around Dean's body and letting Dean bury his face in his mate's bloody neck. Castiel hisses at the sting of Dean's tongue licking over the fresh wound, his growl soft over Dean's soothing rumble.

"Please," Castiel whispers, one hand rubbing down Dean's spine, soothing, soft. "Please, Dean. Fuck me."

Dean cups Castiel's face and kisses him, passionate and soft, every muscle in his body arcing them together like they're magnetized, and spreads Castiel out onto the mattress and drapes himself over his mate. Castiel runs hot most days, his warmth enticing and coaxing as Dean sinks into him, one hand wrapped loosely around Castiel's throat to keep him down.

The older Alpha gasps, body tense, flinching, as Dean's cock pushes into him. He's not as stretched as he would like, but there's no way for an Alpha to be penetrated that isn't painful. They've tried – even with all the toys and stretching and preparation in the world, Castiel has never been able to take more than three of his fingers without it hurting somewhat.

Dean kisses him again, purring when Castiel's strong arms and legs wrap tight around him, Castiel's hands curling around whatever muscle they land on, ankles hooking and holding on as the other Alpha sinks as deep into his mate as he can get on the first thrust. "_Dean_," Castiel growls, huffing the name against his mate's neck.

Castiel's hands tighten, one on his shoulder and the other on his hip, tightening his nails until they're sure to leave little red marks behind. It makes Dean rear back, snarling, giving Castiel the space he needs to see his mate and not another predator looming above him.

The action makes Dean's cock slide back, jerking forward again when the Alpha thrusts, one hand still laid lightly across Castiel's throat. "Fuck, Cas," Dean whispers, tilting his head back and arching his body into the thrusts as they start to pick up speed, their bed protesting every hard jerk and every time Castiel thrusts just right and Dean's body spasms.

Dean's hands leave Castiel and slide instead behind his knees, shoving him in half so that Dean can watch the slow slide of his cock into Castiel's ass. "Look so good like this," he mutters, half to himself, and Castiel's eyes close, and he sighs, as Dean buries himself as deep as he can and lets Castiel drop again.

"I want your _knot_," Castiel hisses, almost petulantly, snapping at Dean's cheek when the other Alpha tries to nuzzle his neck again. His heels brace against the bed, hips circling against Dean as he tries to work Dean deeper into him. His nails rake down Dean's back purely out of spite. "Give it to me, Dean."

Dean growls, shoulders tense under the harsh bite of Castiel's nails, and he pulls his upper lip back to show his teeth, eyes shining red. "Fine," he snarls back, one hand sliding up to knot in Castiel's hair, tugging. "You gonna be a good little bitch and come on my knot?"

Oh, _fuck_. The stab of desire is so intense Castiel almost can't breathe. It's so wrong, dirty-filthy-_wrong_, and rebels against every one of Castiel's Alpha instincts, but he _loves _it when Dean – his sweet, respectful mate – devolves into something he only shares with Castiel – an Alpha no better than any of the rest of the knotheads out there.

"Yes," Castiel whispers, one hand smoothing over the red lines he left on Dean's back, before he lets go and wraps it around his cock instead, stroking quickly as Dean picks up his thrusts again.

"I can't hear you, Angel," Castiel snarls, yanking on Castiel's hair again until the older Alpha moans. Castiel whines softly, reaching out to cradle Dean's jaw, sink his nails into Dean's neck. Dean snarls, lifting his chin to make room for Castiel's hand, fucking in. "Fuck, Cas, m'close."

Fuck, fuck yeah, Castiel is too. "Yes, Dean, me too," he says, hand dragging from Dean's neck down his chest, admiring the play of muscle there, his eyes greedily taking in the sight of his Alpha mate. He knows when Dean's knot comes before the other Alpha has to tell him – he knows because Dean doesn't do this when they're just fucking, when they don't knot. His eyes don't squeeze shut like that, his head hanging like he can't fucking pull the air into his lungs. It's like every part of him squeezes as small as it can so that he can fit inside of Castiel, like he wants to bury all of himself inside of the other Alpha along with his knot.

It hurts, like always, but Castiel accepts it as graciously as his body will allow. "Please, Dean," he urges, circling his hips on Dean's cock to try and coax the knot into swelling, and with a low grunt, Dean starts to come, and fucks in that extra little bit so that his knot can lock past Castiel's rim and plug him up.

"_Fuck_," Dean hisses, leaning down to rub his cheek against Castiel's chest. He keeps working his knot around, scratching the itch that tells him to fuck and spill deep into his mate so that Castiel will get pregnant, even though that can't happen. Every new spurt of come makes him shudder, moaning against Castiel's sweaty skin.

Castiel reaches out to find the fake-slick bottle, and pours some more into his hand to wrap around his cock. Dean smells it, and Castiel can feel his cock twitch at the scent of a fertile Omega filling the room.

He pushes himself upright so that he can watch Castiel touch himself, his mouth hanging open just slightly as he watches Castiel's hand work up and down his cock. "Fuck, look at you," Dean growls, his eyes glued to the slow, slick motion of Castiel's hand moving up and down his cock.

Dean's hips move, circling slowly as he can so that Castiel can feel the pressure inside of him, and he bares his teeth in a grin when Castiel abruptly tenses up and hisses, free hand flying out to Dean's chest. "There it is," the younger Alpha purrs, rutting up against Castiel's prostate in gentle little rocks of his hips that have Castiel gasping.

"Shoulda waited for you, sweetheart, I'm sorry," Dean continues, petting a hand through Castiel's sweaty hair as the other Alpha starts to work his hips up in earnest, desperately seeking the pressure of Dean's knot in that one perfect spot. "Wasn't very polite of me, was it?"

"_Dean_," Castiel whispers, his eyes hazy and red as Dean covers his mate with his body, nuzzling against Castiel's jaw, his cheek, his open mouth. He lets his teeth scrape across Castiel's sore neck, just for good measure.

"Mm, you feel so good, squeezin' down on my knot like that," Dean growls, knows how Castiel likes to hear his voice when he's close. "C'mon, sweetheart, what's it gonna take for you to lose it underneath me, hmm?"

Castiel gasps, his body shivering when Dean bites him again, lighter this time, a tease of his teeth and his mouth sucking blood to the surface in a dark bruise.

Dean laughs, low and dark, pets a hand through Castiel's sweaty hair. "I almost let you fuck me," he says, growls the words right into Castiel's ear, grinning when it makes the older Alpha shiver and arch up. "You like that? Wanna imagine it's me you got wrapped around your cock?"

"_Dean_." Castiel's voice holds something urgent in it – desperate.

"I woulda let you fuck me just like a bitch, too," Dean adds, sucking another bruise onto Castiel's neck. "Hands and knees, just how you like it, Cas."

Castiel growls, his free hand digging into the flesh of Dean's ass, pulling him in like Dean could possibly bury himself any deeper inside of his mate. "Dean," Castiel says, his voice _wrecked_, mouth searching, and Dean obediently meets him for a kiss.

"Next time, hmm?" Dean teases between kisses, grinning widely enough to show his teeth, and that does it. Dean snarls as Castiel starts to bear down around his knot, painfully tight and twisting underneath him as he gasps and shudders, arching up into the splashes of come spilling across his belly and heaving chest.

"_Dean_," Castiel whispers again, still shivering, and buries his face in Dean's neck. Dean wraps his arms tight around his mate, soft grunts falling from his mouth as he feels each little shudder and clench of Castiel's insides around his sensitive knot. Each spasm makes his cock twitch, his hips jerk forward trying to follow the tightness even though it almost hurts, how tight Castiel is getting around him.

Without an Omega around his cock, Castiel's knot goes down very quickly. Dean kisses him again and again as Castiel goes lax underneath him, petting through his hair as Castiel runs his gentle hands down Dean's back, soothing the red lines he left there moments before.

It's one of the rare moments where the two Alphas are too fucked-out to care that they're both Alphas, and Dean intends to enjoy it to the fullest. He nuzzles against every part of his mate he can reach and kisses him like an excited pup.

Castiel grins up at him, giddy. "We should rest," he says. "You have an early flight tomorrow."


End file.
